


Harry Potter and the Curse of Durand

by Nomad (nomadicwriter)



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: AU, Gen, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-29
Updated: 2005-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-06 05:18:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 95,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomadicwriter/pseuds/Nomad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry returns to Hogwarts for his sixth year, he finds the entire school under an ancient and deadly dangerous enchantment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Birthday Tea

**Spoilers**: Includes spoilers for OotP.  
**Disclaimer**: Characters, magic and locations within belong to or were inspired by the worlds of J.K. Rowling.  
**Author's Note**: Well, I finally decided to sit down and write a sixth-year fic. It wanted to be a sprawling epic, but I managed to wrestle it down to under 100,000 words, so here you go.

* * *

The rain drummed violently against the windows of number four, Privet Drive. It collected in the corners of the window to the smallest upstairs bedroom, where the frame still leaked after Uncle Vernon had made a botched attempt at repairing it. Since, of course, everybody knew you couldn't pull safety bars from a window by roping them to a flying car, it followed that it couldn't possibly have happened, and therefore there could be no need to enlist the services of a carpenter. The fact that the window now leaked where no such leaks had been before, then, was simply Just One of Those Things.

The Boy Who Lived was unaware of the rain. The Boy Who Lived was aware of very little, to tell the truth, although the sleep he was currently locked in was certainly not undisturbed. A close observer might have noticed the faint tremble of a lip, a tension in the rangy frame - certainly not that large for a boy his age, but still beginning to outgrow the child's bed it rested on - that indicated more than restful sleep was going on under the surface.

Harry Potter dreamed...

In the way of dreams, he was both at Hogwarts and not at Hogwarts. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that these corridors were in the castle, yet he had never seen them before, and the world outside was a realm of dark and shadowy hills under a purple sky. Professor Dumbledore walked past, with a Muggle dressing-gown on, and his beard in curlers. "The greatest kind of magic, Harry," he said cheerfully, "is the kind that you _don't_ use!"

Through the next doorway was Snape's dungeon, where the Weasley twins were standing over a cauldron, scooping out ladle-fuls of nothing at all into bowls.

"It's invisible!" said Fred.

"Intangible too," said George.

"In fact, it's not even there at all," they said together.

"Why don't you try some?" Fred handed him an empty cup.

Harry walked on. He entered the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. The fountain had been restored, but the figures were different. His aunt and uncle were immortalised in gold as they sat at the breakfast table, sparkling water pouring from Aunt Petunia's teapot. A golden Dudley sat at their feet, looking up at them adoringly.

"Muggles, you know," said Gilderoy Lockhart, from his left. "They're the in thing. What every well-dressed wizard is wearing."

The back end of the room opened onto absolute nothingness. Most of his year-group were there, building a wall out of sugar cubes. As fast as one was placed, an ant would come along and carry it away, turning the whole process into nothing but a production line worked for the benefit of the ants.

"They eat the defences, see! And the weapons. It's genius," said Ron. He was wearing a bright orange Chudley Cannons sweater. "Do you think this will do?" he asked Harry worriedly. "I didn't have anything black."

Hermione marched past, blowing on a whistle that produced no sound. "It's never going to work, you know," she told Harry authoritatively. "These people don't know the first thing about thinking clearly. And who's going to put everything back in its place when it's over? That's what I'd like to know."

He walked on, through a door that led into the Room of Requirement. The only thing in it were four empty display cases, each draped with cloth in the Hogwarts house colours. Taped to the front of the Slytherin case was a note that said: "_Fails to meet expectations. See me,_" in Snape's handwriting.

Harry opened the next door, and found himself outside Hagrid's hut. A big black dog was sitting at the half-giant's feet, a pink bow tied in his fur. "Look what I found, Harry, he's an Animagus." Hagrid beamed at him. "But Dumbledore says I'm not ter keep him. He's bin off his feed fer weeks, look, yeh can see right through him."

And sure enough, the dog was beginning to fade away before his eyes. Harry rushed forward, but all his outstretched hands touched was smoke.

"Look at the ground, Harry," Hagrid told him. "Yeh'll never keep anythin' alive with a weed like that in it." But when he looked down, what he saw was not weeds at all, but hundreds - thousands - of writhing snakes, bursting up out of the soil.

And then he woke up.

The rain had faded sometime during the night, and what was left was that rich, earthy smell that was somehow cleaner than just plain ordinary air. Harry sat up slowly, and put his glasses on.

He ached all over, but that was far from unusual. He'd shot up inches more over the last year, and now the child-sized bed was a fraction too short for him. With the Order of the Phoenix keeping a suspicious eye on his relatives he could probably have cowed them into ordering him a bigger one, but he hadn't wanted to; that would feel too much like there was a chance he might be staying. And after all, today he turned sixteen. If they kicked him out now, he could at least get a job. By his current standards, that counted as a cheerful thought.

His circumstances provided little enough occasion for cheer. Ron and Hermione both wrote to him when they could, but with all the secrecy and constant shuffling of positions, their letters came erratically, and only held inconsequential chatter when they did. Even OWL results, the big topic of the early part of the summer, hardly seemed to matter when you knew everything that was going on that wasn't being said.

His own results had been better than expected. He'd received a P for Divination, of course - amazing it wasn't a D or a T - and he was fairly sure that the A he'd scraped in History of Magic was down to somebody having a word with the examiners about mitigating circumstances after his collapse in the middle of the exam. He wondered if the Astronomy exam had been similarly weighted, in that case for the benefit of the whole group: he'd been given an E for that, and although he thought he'd done well on the written paper, he knew for sure his star chart had been barely three-quarters completed.

He'd also received 'Exceeds Expectations' in Charms, Transfiguration and Herbology, and 'Outstanding' in his two favourite subjects, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Care of Magical Creatures. Although it was hard to bring himself to care too deeply about his grades, he was pleased about that one for Hagrid's sake.

In Potions, he'd received another E, which was frankly a miracle - but still not enough to be accepted by the incredibly strict standards of Professor Snape's NEWT classes. However, Dumbledore had apparently had some form of 'quiet word', suggesting that perhaps with the current state of the wizarding world it might be reasonable to relax his standards just a little further for the coming year. No doubt Snape would be bristling with indignation, and assume he was being asked to do it specifically because of Harry.

Ron had only managed a P in Potions, and was gleefully and triumphantly contemplating the joys of a Snape-free existence next year. Harry was still feeling apathetic about school right now, but no doubt a few minutes into his first Potions lesson of the year, he'd quickly be envying his friend's good luck.

Ron's grades were not quite as good as Harry's, but he had managed to secure three Es, and an 'Outstanding' in Defence Against the Dark Arts, thanks to their extra-curricular activities last year. Hermione, naturally, had managed Os across the board, except for an E in History of Magic - Harry felt somewhat guilty about that, as he was sure it must have been his own fainting fit that had distracted her. She was currently panicking over narrowing down her list of subjects she wanted to take NEWTs in, which by all appearances was all of them.

Harry had his own selections pretty well mapped out. Since he wanted to be an Auror - or, at least, that was the only career path he had the slightest clue about pursuing - that put Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration and Potions on the list automatically. He could have pushed it and chosen a fifth subject as well, but frankly, why put himself through it?

Ron's choices were fairly well constrained by his grades. He and Harry would be together in Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts, at least, but in his letters he'd been rambling about probably having to take Astronomy and Herbology. Hermione, of course, could do what she liked - which would no doubt involve picking five subjects and campaigning to be allowed to take a sixth. Harry only hoped she'd pick Potions as one of them. He didn't want to be the only Gryffindor in that room.

His aunt and uncle eyed him darkly as he stomped down to the breakfast table, but didn't say anything. A few visits from Mad-Eye Moody - who was in the habit of scheduling such things at random hours of the night to keep the enemy on their toes - had got them into an advanced enough state of paranoia that they barely dared speak to him in case his protectors should suddenly appear. Frankly, he considered it an improvement.

There were no birthday cards or presents in the Muggle post, of course, but owls brought him some books from Hermione, a set of Quidditch miniatures from Ron - as soon as he opened the box, the captain figure zipped out and began circling the light fittings, shouting commands in a tone rather reminiscent of Oliver Wood - and various snacks and gadgets from the rest of the Weasley family. He wanted to be excited about the presents, but it was hard to make himself care very much about anything. He felt like he'd been living in a fog all summer, a protective numbness that had blocked out his grief and anger, but at the expense of all his other feelings too.

At half past one, after a grudging 'birthday lunch' of beans on toast, he received a visit from Remus Lupin.

"Harry!" He smiled warmly, but the lines on his face were etched deeper than they had been only months ago, and the grey in his hair had been fast overtaking the brown. "Happy birthday."

Standing stiffly by the door, Uncle Vernon radiated disapproval, but kept his mouth shut beneath his quivering moustache. Lupin, of all the Order of the Phoenix, was probably the best at looking unobtrusive in Muggle clothing, but the threadbare jumper and patched trousers he wore were extremely shabby - to the Dursleys, almost as great a crime as being a wizard.

"Professor Lupin!" Harry gave his first smile of the day, although it was not precisely a happy one. It would be a long, long time before he was able to look at Remus Lupin without their shared sorrow filling the space between them. "What are you doing here?"

"Alastor has-" he smiled slightly- "admittedly, not without argument, given me permission to take you out for the afternoon. I thought you might welcome the chance to get some fresh air."

Lupin was one of the very few people who could manage to say something like that, and have it come out exactly as civil as it seemed on the surface, without the slightest hint of insult to the Dursleys. Nonetheless, Uncle Vernon sneered in distaste.

"Fine," he said curtly. "Don't bring any of your freak friends back with you." He practically shoved Harry out of the front door before slamming it behind them.

"Where are we going?" Harry wondered, as he and Lupin began walking. The sky was a bright, clear blue, without a trace of the rainclouds that had filled it the night before. Mad-Eye Moody was no doubt lurking somewhere behind them, scanning it suspiciously for invaders. The idea of being shadowed day and night like a prisoner under guard grated, but Harry decided to pretend he didn't know it was happening.

Lupin smiled apologetically, giving a very light sigh. "I'm afraid, with... things being the way they are, it's not very safe for you to travel far beyond the confines of Little Whinging. And London, of course, is far too dangerous, even the Muggle district. However, I've been exploring the local area a little since we came here, and I thought you might appreciate a trip into another town, just for a change of scenery."

Harry was happy enough to agree. In truth, though he'd lived here ever since that fateful day Voldemort had killed his parents when he was just a baby, he knew little more of the area than those parts of it he could reach on foot. The Dursleys never took him anywhere, and now that he was actually old enough to arrange for transport of his own, he wasn't _allowed_ to go anywhere.

They took the bus. Harry studiously ignored the highly conspicuous witch and wizard who followed them on, difficult as it was. The witch spent several minutes rummaging in her purse, mumbling things like "How much are the funny little ones with seven sides worth again?", while her companion had not quite grasped that whilst shorts, Wellington boots and a shirt and tie were technically all Muggle clothing, they were seldom worn together, and especially not in a combination of red, green, purple and orange.

Still, at least they ensured that nobody at all was staring at Harry and Lupin. Harry had to admit that, whatever else you said about the Muggle world, the lack of people gawping at the scar on his forehead was a definite plus. In Little Whinging, not only did nobody know who he was, nobody cared.

Lupin seemed remarkably at home on a bus; when Harry asked him about it, he smiled mysteriously. "Let's just say I've had to get used to passing through all kinds of places."

Of course he had. Aside from Albus Dumbledore, there were few people in the wizarding world prepared to give a job to a werewolf, however harmless and well qualified the werewolf in question might be. Harry supposed that passing for a Muggle from time to time might give Lupin the same kind of welcome anonymity he himself sometimes yearned for.

"Professor-" he began as they left the bus station, and Lupin smiled at him.

"Harry, you know, it's been a long time since I was your teacher. You're sixteen today; I think that's a good enough occasion for you to start calling me Remus."

Harry was caught between a smile and a feeling of great melancholy. He'd hoped - stupid, really, he knew, but he'd _hoped_ \- that perhaps now that the danger of Voldemort was out in the open, Lupin might have been allowed to come back to Hogwarts and teach again. He'd been the best qualified Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher they'd had. Just about the only one, actually. All the others had been either incompetent or out to get them all killed - or in the case of Umbridge, both.

"Professor Dumbledore sends his regards," Lupin said, which Harry took noncommittally. His faith in Professor Dumbledore had been absolute - and last year, it had shattered. The Hogwarts Headmaster had always let everybody think he was in control of everything; now that Harry knew that wasn't true, he was furious at him for letting them all believe so. How many times had he and the others risked their lives over the years, relying on that false security?

The shops in the town were not terribly exciting to anybody accustomed to their wizarding equivalents. Harry had no interest in clothes, no need for computer games or music that he couldn't take to Hogwarts, and absolutely no knowledge at all of current Muggle crazes or fashions.

Lupin's destination, he discovered, was a second-hand bookshop of the crammed and erratically organised kind. There were three floors, each with several rooms full of bookcases, no two of the same design. There were books piled higgledy-piggledy everywhere, even along the walls as you came up the spiral stairs.

It was, Harry had to admit, rather reminiscent of some of the shops in Diagon Alley; everything was very old and dusty, and logic appeared to have taken a back seat to random whimsy. Still, he was not entirely sure what they were doing here, and said so as Lupin led him up to the smallest of the rooms on the uppermost floor.

"Look again," Lupin advised him, with a faint smile.

Harry did, but could see nothing remarkable. Just piles of old books... he looked closer as the careful gold lettering on one of the spines caught his eye. _Curious Charms and Hilarious Hexes to Astound Your Friends_, by Loki Vrolijker.

"These are magical books!" he realised, amazed.

"Indeed they are," Lupin agreed. "Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley alone cannot serve the needs of every witch and wizard in the country. You might be surprised how many shops like this one have a shelf of special merchandise... for those with a discerning eye."

Harry frowned. "But, the Muggles-"

"These shelves are charmed, of course. If any non-wizard should come up here, they would appear to hold the driest, dullest books imaginable on that person's least favourite subject. A lot of second-hand bookshop owners are Squibs or retired wizards, Harry. There's something very magical about old books... even those that have no special properties of their own."

"Hermione would love it in here," Harry said, grinning.

The time flew by surprisingly quickly while he was browsing the shelves. In Flourish and Blotts he'd have been the one tugging impatiently on Hermione's arm to drag her away to somewhere more interesting, but after being so far removed from the wizarding world it was wonderful to just be able to flick through the pages of an ancient tome and see diagrams of wand movements and descriptions of spells. If he squinted and inhaled the dust, he could believe for a while he was in the library at Hogwarts.

Harry wanted to take half the shelf home with him, but he had a suspicion that Lupin was going to want to treat him since it was his birthday, and he was sure his ex-Professor could hardly afford to be spending all his money on Harry. So, regretfully, he finally picked out a book of defensive hexes and a rather lurid graphic novel about dragon-tamers in the middle ages.

"Let me pay for those," Lupin said, as they descended the stairs, and Harry smiled to himself.

They stopped for tea at a quiet little café not far from the bookshop. That was Harry's suggestion: Professor Lupin had been willing to stop for fast food anywhere he would have chosen, but Harry had seen how thin he was. He wasn't at all convinced that Lupin had been taking care of himself since- well, since - and decided that if he was going to have him trapped for long enough to be forced to eat a meal, he could at least make sure it was a decent one.

Perhaps that was what you called growing up.

Truth to tell, he wasn't sure he could have stood babbling voices and harsh artificial lights in any case. At least it was empty and quiet in the café, and even their 'escort' managed to be unobtrusive.

They caught the last bus back to Little Whinging; Lupin gave Harry's shoulder a squeeze on the doorstep just before he went in. "Look after yourself, Harry," he said softly.

"I will." He turned and gave him a slight smile. "You too, Profess- um, Remus." His awkward stumble made his ex-teacher smile, but a quiet sadness still showed through behind it. Harry knew exactly how he felt.

He went to sleep that night feeling rather melancholy, but also a little more at peace with himself than he had been in a while. The strange dreams of the night before did not recur, and - perhaps unfortunately - as the days passed and the relatively uneventful summer wore on, Harry quite forgot about them.


	2. The Barrier

"Quickly, Harry, come on!"

Harry felt like the ball in a pinball machine, being fired from place to place without a spare moment to stop and breathe. Mad-Eye Moody had devised a fiendishly complicated schedule for getting him to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters that involved thirteen different stopovers, six modes of transport, and three costume changes. Ten minutes into the plan, and Harry was so thoroughly befuddled he probably wouldn't have even noticed if he was suddenly kidnapped by Death Eaters.

However, instead, he managed to make it to the station with three and half minutes to spare, most of the clothes he'd started out in, and only a minimal case of seasickness. He was still wearing an embarrassingly pink shirt that was Tonks's idea of an amusing disguise, but fortunately his school robes covered that up if he pulled them in tight enough at the neck. He added a quick sealing charm with his wand to make sure they stayed that way.

Ron and Hermione both rushed him with cries of relief when they spotted him. "Harry!" Ron had, impossible at it seemed, grown even taller and ganglier over the holidays. And Hermione had got, well, er, noticeably more... female. Harry was glad she was chattering away too much to see his slight flush when she hugged him.

"-And Professor Flitwick sent me a note to say that he hoped very much I'd be willing to take Charms, because he had a special project that he thought I'd be able to help him with in the seventh year. But I really want to do Arithmancy as well, and that means I can't possibly take the Ancient Runes course-"

"What subjects are you taking, Harry?" Ron asked tolerantly. No doubt Hermione had been talking his ear off for an hour already.

It was wonderful to see them both again.

"Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration and Potions," he rattled off without stopping to think about it.

"Potions? Are you _off your rocker_?" Ron demanded incredulously. "We finally get a chance to escape from Snape, and you're taking his class _voluntarily_?"

"Ron!" Hermione elbowed him. "That's great, Harry," she said, smiling warmly at him. "Don't let Snape bully you out of it. Potions is a very important subject if you want to-"

"Oh, put a sock in it," Ron sighed. "Come on, or we'll miss the train."

They scrambled into a carriage on the Hogwarts Express, Ron and Hermione electing to skip out on the alleged privilege of riding in the Prefect cars. "If I have to spend the whole journey staring at Draco Malfoy's smug little rat-face, then I won't be responsible for anything I turn him into," Hermione said curtly. Draco's father was currently languishing in the Azkaban wizard prison after his part in the attack on the Ministry of Magic, but Harry had a horrible suspicion he'd find some way to slime his way out of it sooner or later.

Neville Longbottom joined them in their alternative carriage, with a shy grin. He'd grown more confident since joining Harry's unofficial Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons and holding his own in the battle in the Department of Mysteries last year, but Neville would never be somebody who put himself forward.

He was carrying a small, fluffy plant that looked rather like a cactus that had put out blue puffballs instead of spikes. "It's a Fluctuating Flaxweed," Neville explained. "I grew it from a seed. It blooms in the presence of other magical plants, so it's bound to really thrive in the Hogwarts greenhouses."

Neville was a natural with Herbology; they'd all expected it to be the first subject he put down for his NEWTs. "What other classes are you taking this year, Neville?" Hermione asked him.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts, Charms, and Astronomy." He beamed. "And best of all, no more Potions _ever_." Neville was perhaps the only person in the world who suffered worse in Professor Snape's classes than Harry did.

"Awesome!" said Ron. "You're taking exactly the same subjects as I am." He looked a bit happier about the prospect of being stuck with two classes he wasn't sharing with Harry.

"I still can't _decide_," Hermione moaned helplessly. She had a whole stack of different career leaflets in her hands, and was flicking through them urgently, apparently trying to devise some sort of scoring system to figure out which combination of subjects was most efficient.

"Just close your eyes and stab the list with a quill a few times," Ron suggested, rolling his eyes.

* * *

Harry didn't talk much during the journey, just let the sound of the train wash over him and gave the occasional smile when the conversation drifted his way. It was funny how one of the things he was most grateful for from his friends was the fact that they could, at times, ignore him. After his childhood with the Dursleys he would never have believed that a blessing, but five years of being stared at and whispered over soon put him straight. To everyone else he was The Boy Who Lived, a marvel to be poked and prodded and gawped at, but with his friends he could just be Harry.

_Just Harry._ That provoked a bitter smirk that only the landscape passing by got to see. No, he would never truly have the chance to be that. Even the people who loved him never fully lost sight of who he was, it just meant something different to them. They didn't idolise or fear him, but they pitied him and worried for him, and in some ways that was worse.

The loss of Sirius was a sharp, keen ache that never went away. Gone, the only person who _hadn't cared_. Hadn't cared that he was not just James Potter's son, but Voldemort's sworn enemy, that he was The Boy Who Lived. Sirius had never pitied him, never tried to hold him back 'for his own protection', never once looked at him with that expression of painful sorrow that so many people wore for him when they thought he couldn't see. And maybe that meant he'd been as reckless as everyone had always thought - but Harry had loved him for it, more than anything.

And now that love was in the past tense. Forever. Sirius was gone, and it was Harry's fault, and what made it even worse was that they pitied him instead of hating him for _that_ as well.

The sound of a scuffle in the next carriage along was really a rather welcome distraction.

Exchanging glances, they all went for their wands, even Neville. Not the reflexes of older students ready to dutifully break up the squabbles of their less mature fellows, but those of a group of warriors who knew all too well that danger could come from anywhere, at any time.

_Constant vigilance,_ Harry thought, and smiled darkly.

Ron kicked open the door to the next compartment, and they charged in.

Not a Death Eater raid, at least not of the grown-up kind. Harry's relief duelled with a kind of frustrated disappointment, until both were pushed aside by anger. A group of fifth-year Slytherins had a Ravenclaw boy bent back over one of the seats, at an angle that surely threatened to snap his neck.

"Care to repeat that, Dolorus?" growled the apparent ringleader, a flat-faced boy with an ugly haircut. None of them were paying attention to the Gryffindors who'd just burst in.

"Back off, Ferus." Ron strode in to loom over his sister's classmates.

"Oh, wow, it's the Weasel," snickered another boy. "What's up, Weasley, got your knickers in a twist? Heard you wear your mother's 'cause you can't afford your own."

Ron's ears turned a little pinker, but he kept his cool better than he would once have done. "Yeah? I heard your mother got arrested by the Ministry because your baby pictures contravened the Obscene Images of Dark Creatures Act."

"Ooh, the Ministry." He knocked his knees together in mock fear. "Going to join your daddy's little office and play with Muggle toys? Maybe then your family can move into a bigger shoebox."

Neville, meanwhile, had fixed his attention on the trapped Ravenclaw. "Let him go," he ordered Ferus, with a calm authority that would have made most of his teachers and classmates keel over from shock.

"Make me, Fatbottom." Ferus sneered and went for his wand.

"_Expelliarmus!_" Neville knocked it out of his hand, but the third Slytherin boy was moving to back up his friends.

"_Acinaceo!_"

A silver blade flashed across the railway carriage towards him, and Neville blocked it just in time with a hasty, "_Resiliatem!_" Score one for Harry's Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons.

It was time he intervened. "_Adhaereosum!_" Harry shot the Sticking Curse at the boy who'd been trading words with Ron.

"_Restringeo!_" Having near the same idea simultaneously, Hermione aimed at the one Neville had disarmed, tightly binding him to the nearest seat. With the other two restrained, Ron blasted Ferus away from his victim.

"_Iacto Aversium!_" The Slytherin knocked heads with the boy Harry had immobilised, and promptly stuck to him, groaning.

Harry went to help up the Ravenclaw they'd been harassing. "It's Tiberius Dolorus, isn't it?" said Hermione. She always seemed to know everybody's name. Knowing her, she'd drawn up a list and memorised it as soon as she was made Prefect. If not earlier.

The Ravenclaw, a small, skinny boy with scruffy dark hair and square glasses, nodded awkwardly. He appeared to suddenly register who'd come to his rescue, and drew back from Harry as if he'd been burned.

Harry knew exactly what _that_ was about. "Lucky for you we came along," he said, more bluntly than he would have done otherwise.

"I can take care of myself," Dolorus said sullenly, rubbing his face on a grubby sleeve, and eyeing his rescuers with great suspicion.

"Looked like it." Ron stepped in to stand beside Harry. "Or was Ferus just helping you shave?"

"Harry. Ron," Hermione said warningly. Harry made himself step backwards, knowing it was stupid to feel angry at the kid for not showing much gratitude, but angry all the same. Were people ever going to stop treating him like some dangerous lunatic? What more did he have to do to prove his version of events, drag Voldemort's smoking corpse into the middle of the Great Hall and drop it? Even if he did there'd probably just be a collective gasp and rumours flying around that Harry Potter had been murdering people.

Neville gave the Ravenclaw boy a cautious smile. "Don't let those three idiots get to you," he advised.

Ron relaxed. "Yeah." He shot the three imprisoned Slytherins a dark look as they moved back towards their own carriage. "Ginny's told me about that bunch of tosspots. Maynard Ferus, Patrick Trage and Todd Dempsey. They even fight with the other Slytherins."

"They're a disgrace to right-thinking wizards everywhere," said Dolorus, green eyes flashing passionately behind his glasses.

"Yes, well, whatever they do, you shouldn't try to take them on yourself," Hermione lectured sternly. "If they're bullying you, call a Prefect." Behind her, Ron took some of the impact out of this message by rolling his eyes theatrically.

Dolorus appeared no more impressed with this snippet of wisdom. "Of course," he said, with great sarcasm, and escaped into the next carriage.

"_Well_," said Hermione indignantly. The expression on her face was momentarily so reminiscent of McGonagall that Harry had to firmly press a hand to his mouth to stop himself from snickering.

"What should we do about those three back there?" Neville asked, after a moment.

"Leave 'em stuck there," Ron said firmly.

Hermione nodded in agreement. "The staff will check the train and set them loose when we get to Hogwarts." The perfect Prefect mask finally cracked a little to expose a grin. "Probably," she added.

* * *

The rest of the journey passed less dramatically. When they arrived at the school, however, they were met immediately by a stern-faced McGonagall.

"Everybody form a line, please. You'll be escorted into the school grounds- No, don't worry about getting into your year groups or houses, just an orderly line. _Line_, Mr. Ackerley, that generally means one behind the other. _Thank_ you."

She gave Harry and the others a small, relieved smile as they filed past her. "Mr. Potter. Good to see you made it on time and in the traditional manner for a change." Her voice was as dry as ever, but there was a subtle thread of affection buried in there somewhere.

Once they were safely out of the Transfiguration Professor's earshot, Harry leaned closer to Ron, ahead of him in the line. "Why are they keeping everybody on such a strict path?" Staff were stationed at several points ahead of them, ordering anybody who strayed by so much as a few steps back into position.

"They must have put in some new defences," said Hermione from behind him. "Probably something horrible happens if you travel too far from the path."

Although he was walking through open air, Harry suddenly felt horribly oppressed. He looked up, and fancied he saw the air above him shimmer slightly, like his Invisibility Cloak. What would happen if he was to fly through it on his broom? Would he be teleported out, or paralysed, or vaporized completely...?

"Oh, no!" Neville cried out in dismay. Harry turned back towards him, and was immediately hit in the face by a big ball of blue fluff.

"What the-?" Ron staggered against him, caught off guard.

"My Fluctuating Flaxweed! It's seeding!" Neville struggled to conceal the little plant under his robe as it fired off fluffy seed pods in all directions. "It's not supposed to do this until it's been planted in a whole bed full of magical plants!"

"Could it be reacting to the Forbidden Forest?" Hermione wondered.

"From this distance?" asked Ron incredulously, ducking another projectile.

"It shouldn't be doing this!" Neville finally succeeded in trapping it under a bunched up section of his robes, and then tried to hold onto it as it shook and jumped about. His face was a picture of misery. "I must have done something wrong when I used the Growth-Quickening Charm."

"Maybe you just got a duff one, Neville," Ron said kindly.

The plant finally quieted down when it had no more seed pods left to fire. Harry swiped away the remains of the one that had stuck to his lips, and picked another from his shoulder. Acting on a whim, he set it on the palm of his hand, and blew on it softly. It drifted off into the darkness... and bounced.

There _was_ something there. Some kind of invisible wall, perhaps... He cautiously reached out to feel for it-

"_Mr._ Potter." Oh, wonderful. Snape. "Kindly keep your hands at your sides when you are directed to do so. I shudder to think how much more abysmal your Potions marks could become should you happen to lose a limb."

Harry managed to keep the several replies that sprang to mind on the inside, and shuffled onwards without comment. Ron closed his eyes, and tilted his head back. "I'm _so_ glad I don't take Potions any more," he told the world at large, with great sincerity.

"All right, Ron, no need to rub it in," Harry grumbled.

They followed the snaking path they'd been directed to take until they were all congregated on the lake shore. All the staff seemed to be there, bar Dumbledore; Harry tried to spot anybody who might be their new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, but it was too dark to pick out any but the most familiar figures. Professors Sprout and McGonagall met up a short distance away from him, and he managed to innocently drift through the crowd until he could overhear.

"You checked the train?" McGonagall asked.

"They're all out," Sprout confirmed with a nod. "Had to free a few Slytherin boys from a rather well-applied Sticking Curse in one of the carriages. They wouldn't say who was responsible for it, but it was certainly an impressive effort."

Harry grinned quietly to himself, but McGonagall just sighed. "Unfortunately, I fear this may only be the tip of the iceberg. Tensions are running very high in Slytherin house when so many of the children have relatives in Azkaban or else under suspicion of Dark wizardry."

Sprout looked similarly grave. "Yes. It's always the children that suffer for the parents' actions, the poor lambs."

Harry thought of Draco Malfoy, and had a great deal of trouble juxtaposing that image with any such fluffy description. The trouble was, as he knew from bitter personal experience, no matter _what_ their teenage charges did or went through, adults could never bring themselves to think of them as anything other than innocent children who needed protecting.

"We're sure we have everybody?" McGonagall asked.

"As sure as we can be. There's no time to gather everybody up and check the registers, I'm afraid; Filius warned me that he can't keep an illusion this size up for much longer."

"Right." McGonagall lit her wand with a flick of the wrist, and straightened up. She didn't use the _Sonorus_ charm, but her voice rang out clearly over the crowd quite without magical amplification. "Everyone, your attention please! First-years, go with Hagrid. Everyone else, proceed in an orderly - and I do mean _orderly_ \- fashion to the Great Hall. Do not approach the edge of the grounds, and please do not attempt to use any magic whatsoever until you are inside the castle walls."

"Blimey, this is a bit excessive, isn't it?" murmured Ron, close to Harry's shoulder.

"There's no such thing as too much when it comes to taking safety precautions," Hermione chided him firmly. Harry knew the remark had absolutely nothing to do with him, but it felt like a knife in his gut anyway. Yes. Safety precautions. Those things he should have taken instead of rushing head first into trouble and getting Sirius killed through his own stupidity.

He didn't realise how long he'd been standing until Neville jostled the three of them anxiously. "Come on," he urged, "we'll get in trouble."

"With who?" Ron demanded. "We're the Prefects!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Ron, you're incorrigible. Now come on. We should be setting an example." He trailed helplessly in her wake as she seized him by the arm of his robes and marched off in the direction of the castle.

They were only halfway there, however, when the sky suddenly disappeared.

To be more precise, it was obscured by an enormous dome that blinked instantly into existence, big enough to cover the whole of Hogwarts and much of the surrounding grounds. It shimmered with a blur of iridescent colours, like petrol film on a puddle. It gave Harry the rather unpleasant feeling that his eyes were being sucked out of his head. He hurriedly looked down at the grass.

Around them, people were beginning to panic. Hagrid had hustled the first-years inside, but right now the older students had their own reasons to be extremely edgy. There were screams of fright and shouts about Death Eater attacks and Hogwarts' defences failing...

"Everyone, into the school building!" Snape strode through the chaos like the world's least likeable Quidditch referee. "Inside!"

"Proceed to the Great Hall!" called McGonagall, from somewhere else. With one last glance at the unnatural sky, Harry followed the others inside.

He had no idea what kind of magic it took to enclose the school in a bubble that size, or what the shimmering surface represented. But one thing was for certain: as long as that magical dome stayed up, Hogwarts was utterly sealed off from the outside world.


	3. A Solemn Sorting

"What _is_ that spell?" Harry asked, once they were out of the crush of students hurrying to get inside.

Hermione wrinkled her forehead. "I've never seen anything like it! The power it must have taken-"

"It must be the new school defences," Ron said, unconcerned. Harry was less certain.

"If they could cast a defensive spell that powerful, why didn't they do it last year?" Dumbledore had known full well the danger they were all in.

"Probably because that cow Umbridge wouldn't have allowed it," said Ron, with a scowl. "Hey, did any of you see the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?"

"Why, did you?" Dean Thomas came squeezing through the crowds to join them.

"No, nobody has," Ron said, shaking his head.

"There's already a betting pool going on," said Dean. "What d'you reckon this year: useless, or evil?"

"Evil," said Harry. He knew the way his luck ran.

"Useless," said Ron.

"Evil _and_ useless," Neville suggested glumly.

"Useless at being evil!" Ron countered.

Hermione heaved a big, put-upon sigh. "_Honestly_."

* * *

Their group was amongst the last to arrive in the Great Hall, but the school still seemed woefully depopulated. There seemed to be hardly any first-years; Harry counted about twenty-five, all looking rather small and lost. Barely more than half a dozen per house.

Professor McGonagall strode in to take charge of the milling first-years. "Attention, please! The Sorting ceremony is about to commence- thank you, Professor Flitwick." The diminutive Charms professor had just arrived carrying the traditional stool and the Sorting Hat, which went together to be rather taller than he was.

"Settle down, please," McGonagall requested of the Hall at large, still alive with murmurs and curious whispers. They all watched the hat. A moment later, it twitched into life.

> _I am the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
> My purpose is quite clear  
> To split you is my task; to that  
> I always will adhere.  
> The founding four were true and good  
> Pure friendship shared they all.  
> But argue all day long they could  
> On how to run the school.  
> Each had their own opinion clear  
> Of what should be most prized  
> And so, to share the children here  
> Four houses were devised.  
> Said Gryffindor: "I claim the bold."  
> The proud and strong he took.  
> But brave souls don't heed what they're told  
> And seldom stop to look.  
> Said Ravenclaw: "I claim the wise."  
> Her house praised careful thought.  
> But those who think long seldom rise  
> To finish what they ought.  
> Said Slytherin: "I claim the pure."  
> Ambitious souls, each one.  
> But lines of blood do not endure  
> And plots are never done.  
> Said Hufflepuff: "I will not choose!"  
> She took all to her heart.  
> But those most loyal still can lose  
> If they will not take part.  
> Divide you all, I can, I must  
> By weaknesses, and strengths  
> But you must never think to trust  
> These labels to all lengths.  
> A house is but a house; a name  
> My children, you are more.  
> Live in the house I bid you claim  
> But do not close the door.  
> The Founders were a family  
> Divided, but still whole,  
> And that is what we now must be  
> If we're to reach our goal. _

The hat fell silent. So did the Hall. This sombre song was unlike even the previous year's startling effort; then, as now, it had warned of the dangers of being divided, but this was the first time Harry could remember it starkly outlining the houses' faults along with their greatest strengths. Only a few people even started to applaud, and the claps quickly died away.

McGonagall took her customary place with the scroll. "Adams, Jane," she announced briskly. The first petrified eleven-year-old hesitantly crept forward.

Harry listened to the ceremony with half an ear, clapping automatically at the occasional roar of "_Gryffindor_!" His attention was on the teachers' table, which still had one place conspicuously empty. He nudged Ron.

"Looks like the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher hasn't arrived."

"Do you think they might have been trapped outside by the spell?" asked Neville worriedly.

"Maybe they'll let you teach us officially this time, Harry!" Ron said optimistically.

Harry smiled, but inside he doubted it. And he wasn't sure he wanted the responsibility. He might be able to show people how to throw spells about, but as events in the Department of Mysteries had shown, he was woefully inadequate at anticipating even the most ridiculously simple of enemy plans.

Dumbledore gave a long speech, which Harry determinedly ignored as soon as it became clear he wasn't going to say anything about the new Defence teacher or the magical dome outside. He was through with listening to Dumbledore. He talked in riddles, and that had been almost comforting when it seemed that he had all the answers, but now it felt like he was deliberately playing games with people's lives. How many people had been nearly - or really - killed thanks to trusting to a few cryptic words that they thought ought to mean something?

There were far too many secrets being kept from him "for his own good". Well, if they wanted to play that game, he knew exactly what to do about it.

* * *

That night, after he was supposedly safely tucked up in his familiar school bed again, he put on his Invisibility Cloak, and slipped out.

The school was quiet. Even the ghosts and the pictures seemed subdued. He remembered that the Fat Lady had hardly been her energetic self when welcoming them back to Gryffindor Tower. He wondered whether it was the same solemn attitude that had settled over the school's human inhabitants... or something more.

He wasn't surprised to find that many of the staff were still up and about, and with some careful footwork he was able to creep up behind McGonagall and Flitwick and eavesdrop on their conversation.

"-all settled in?" That was Flitwick.

"It appears so. We can only hope that none of the students disobeyed our advice, and went roaming too far before you put the shield back up."

"If they did, I'm afraid, there's nothing we can do about it. If the shield comes down, it's down. It's not a spell I can easily restore, and with that thing outside, well-" The little wizard shook his head.

"Your other illusion is still holding?" McGonagall asked.

"Yes. Yes, that one is hardly a problem to maintain... Still, I wonder if perhaps we should-"

"It would only cause panic for the students to see it."

"Yes, I suppose you're right." Flitwick sighed. "I just think that the more minds we have together working on this, the better."

"Not at the expense of adolescent hysterics," McGonagall said firmly. "Besides, we have the whole year to work on a solution, and some of the finest minds in wizarding Britain at our disposal."

Flitwick nodded. "Let us hope that they prove fine enough."

At this point, they moved out of Harry's hearing range, but the conversation seemed to be over, so he didn't try to follow. Instead, he crept back to his dorm, turning over what he'd heard in his mind. So, this dome was more than purely defensive. There was something out there that the staff were trying to keep out. And Flitwick was hiding something with an illusion - some kind of problem that needed to be solved?

Something, he thought grimly, which was being kept from them in case they panicked - never mind the number of times he and his friends had proved themselves more than capable in a crisis.

"_Dancing nogtails_," he mumbled to the Fat Lady, who sleepily opened the passage for him.

He stomped up the stairs back to his room. Oh, yes, he might be The Boy Who Lived when they needed him to be. When it was _convenient_ for them. But the moment they ran out of hoops for him to jump through, he got stuck on a shelf and treated like a child until they were ready to use him again. He was just a tool to them - a weapon, to be used in the battle against Voldemort, and then casually thrown back and expected to act as if nothing had changed.

Well, he'd be their weapon. It wasn't as if he had a choice. But he was damned if he was just going to sit around and wait like a good little boy while they decided amongst themselves how much he should be told and how much he should be 'protected' from. Something was afoot here, and he was going to find out what.

* * *

The next morning, however, drove most thoughts of investigating from his mind with more mundane matters. The timetables for the new year had arrived, and he groaned in dismay when he read his own over breakfast.

"Potions first thing - and a _double_ session on Thursdays?"

Ron raised his hands to the sky in triumph. "I'm free. I'm free! No more Potions, no more Snape - forever!" His feet tapped out a little dance of glee under the table.

Hermione ignored him. "We're studying for the NEWTs now, Harry. Frankly, I don't think even three lessons a week is nearly enough. We're going to have to use every minute of our spare time for studying."

Ron snorted. "Yeah, right."

Harry studied his timetable again. Aside from the horror of a triple dose of Snape, it really wasn't all that bad. After Potions he had Charms before lunch, and then he was free for the rest of the day. And tomorrow he had double Defence Against the Dark Arts. He was looking forward to that, at least, assuming the new teacher ever turned up. If there even was one. Why couldn't they have hired Lupin?

Hermione tugged his arm. "Come on, Harry. You don't want to be late for Potions."

No, he definitely didn't. In fact, he didn't want to go at all.

Snape was his usual glaring self as Harry took a seat with Hermione. The only other Gryffindor who had dared to come back was Parvati Patil, who was sitting with her Ravenclaw twin. The NEWT classes, optional as they were, mixed all four houses together in one classroom; hardly a problem in the under-subscribed Potions, but popular classes like Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts were likely to be more of a cram. Harry saw to his dismay that Malfoy and several of his fellow Slytherins had opted to keep taking Snape's lessons, although Crabbe and Goyle at least had been weeded out by the entry requirements.

The Potions master stalked to the front of the classroom, robes swishing. "This is not an easy subject," he said, without preamble. "You will not be given a free ride. Some of you have been accepted into this class, over my objections, without making the required grade in the OWL. Make no mistake, you _will_ improve, and you will do so immediately, or else you _will_ fail the entire course." The sneer that accompanied this was directed solely at Harry, who was pretty sure he wasn't the _only_ one in the class to have scored less than an O in the OWL.

Snape leaned forward menacingly, black eyes glittering as his bony fingers gripped the corners of his desk. "Every potion you make in the next two years will count towards your final grade." There was a ripple of absolute horror through the class. "I will be observing your performance _at all times_. It is not my job to shepherd you through meaningless academic hoops, and stuff your thick and unwisely swollen heads with clever exam answers to be regurgitated and forgotten. I am here... to teach you to make potions - and make them perfectly, each and every time you sit down to do so. You will leave this class as expert potion-brewers - or you will not leave this class at all."

From the looks on the faces of the students around him, nobody was entirely sure he was speaking figuratively. The Slytherins, unused to being lumped in with the rest of the class when it came to this kind of treatment, were taking on some shades of green and grey that rather nicely mimicked their house colours. Even if Snape was intending to play his usual game of favourites, they were still going to get put through the wringer.

Harry fought the urge to groan aloud. A grade for his next two years of classwork - assigned by _Snape_? He might as well fill in the T for himself right now. He might have scraped that unlikely 'Exceeds Expectations' in the OWL, but that was thanks to the impartial external examiners. If he had to win Snape's approval in class as well as pass the exam and the practical, he didn't have a hope in hell of getting a top grade.

Harry gritted his teeth. There was still time to drop out and change subjects... but no. He wouldn't give Snape the satisfaction. If Sirius were here, he wouldn't-

He clamped down on that thought, hard. He wasn't going to think about Sirius; not here, and now, with Snape waiting in the wings to pounce on the slightest sign of weakness. He would just bite his tongue, and take notes like a good little boy, and pretend that schoolwork could actually still even matter after everything that had happened.

Just like everybody expected him to.

* * *

Charms was better. Ron was in this class, and so were most of the rest of Gryffindors and indeed the year group - excitable little Professor Flitwick was well-liked by most of the school, and compared to the difficult disciplines of Transfiguration and Potions, charm-work was practically a breeze.

Unfortunately, only in comparison. NEWT-level work proved to be just as tough as everyone had claimed it would be, and while Harry might be well ahead in offensive and defensive spells, when it came to charms for more ordinary purposes, his education was decidedly patchy. After his fourth failed attempt to master a Sweeping Charm, he felt like snapping his wand in frustration. It was hardly likely he was going to live long enough to need to know how to do magical housework, anyway.

"It's _Verrium Mundio!_" Hermione said helpfully, sweeping her own pile of sand into a neat conical heap with a few deft flicks of her wand.

"_Verrio Mundi-_ uh-"

Harry's angry wand stroke managed to sweep up his sand, Hermione's, Ron's school bag, and Neville Longbottom. "Sorry, Neville!" As everything went down in a tangled heap and Harry winced, Ron leaned over.

"Teach me that version. Next time mum's on at me to tidy my room, I can just open the wardrobe and sweep everything into it."

"Nice smooth wand movements there, Harry, but let's work on fine control, shall we?" said Professor Flitwick, after he'd crawled out from beneath the table he'd quickly ducked under to avoid low-flying Nevilles.

Harry grimaced, and kept practising.

* * *

After lunch that day, they went to see Hagrid. Harry had to admit that now he was no longer taking Care of Magical Creatures his timetable was probably considerably less dangerous - but not nearly as eventful.

The oversized Groundskeeper smiled and waved at them as they approached. Harry saw to his surprise that a large number of pens of varying shapes and sizes had been set up not far from the Quidditch pitch. He leaned over the slatted fence of the nearest cautiously - long experience with Hagrid's idea of a good pet had taught him that - and found himself looking down into a hollowed out area that that had been flooded until it resembled marshland. There didn't seem to be anything living in it, just some grasses and waterlilies, and few chunks of dead wood drifting on top of the water.

"What's this for, Hagrid?" he wondered curiously.

"Careful there, Harry, mind yeh don't-"

Harry's foot dislodged a few clods of earth that went tumbling down into the water. One of the floating pieces of wood abruptly developed paws and very sharp teeth, wriggling over with alarming speed to investigate the ripples. He took an involuntary step backwards.

"It's a Dugbog!" said Hermione knowledgeably, peering over his shoulder. "They eat Mandrakes, you know." The boys both remained blank, and she rolled her eyes. "Honestly, I know Umbridge was a bad teacher, but did you do _any_ of the reading she assigned?"

"What's with all the pens, Hagrid?" Ron asked curiously. It wasn't like Hagrid to be this organised at the beginning of the year; he always rather gave the impression that his classes moved on to studying new creatures as and when he managed to pick them up from some shady character in a pub.

"New arrangements, see." Hagrid scratched his beard awkwardly, and the three of them exchanged glances. Hagrid was almost painfully bad at covering it when he was hiding something. "Professor Dumbledore asked me ter get all the creatures together at the beginning of the year, so we'd have them all in one place, like. Yeh should come an' have a look, we've got Muscomens an' Fire Crabs an' all kinds o' stuff."

"Is this because of the dome?" Hermione guessed shrewdly.

"What dome? Oh, that dome." Hagrid attempted, rather badly, to act as if he'd completely forgotten the existence of the enormous, shimmering magical barrier covering the entire school and grounds. "Well, it's the new defences, see, an' it takes a lot of power ter keep bringin' it up and down all the time, so it's easiest if we have everything we need all together, right...?" He swiftly and shiftily changed the subject. "Have yeh ever seen a colony o' Muscomens before? Yeh don't see them much in captivity - they can sense thoughts, yeh know, so they're right difficult ter catch-"

"But what's it here to protect against?" Harry refused to be distracted.

"Well, You-Know-Who, o' course!" Hagrid said, too quickly.

"Yes, of course," agreed Hermione, pointedly taking both of the boys by their elbows and steering them away before they could make efforts to interrogate him any further. "Anyway, very nice to see you Hagrid, sorry we can't chat, but we've got to get to class."

"What did you do that for?" Ron demanded in a harsh whisper, as soon as they were a little way away. "Two more questions and he'd have cracked like a Cockroach Cluster!"

"Yes, and then he'd get in trouble, and everybody would know we knew what the dome was for, and probably keep a closer eye on us than ever."

"She's got a point," said Harry.

"It can't just be to keep Dark wizards out," said Hermione. "If it is, why haven't they done it before? I mean, when everybody thought Sirius-" She cut herself off abruptly, looking mortified.

"It's all right, Hermione," Harry said quietly. It still hurt to even think about Sirius, but it would be even worse to stop thinking about him completely, and try to pretend he'd never existed at all.

"Anyway," she continued shakily, "it doesn't make sense. I know things are bad now, but they can't be any worse than last year. They wouldn't do something as drastic as this unless..."

"Unless there was something else going on," Ron finished grimly.

They all looked up at the iridescent dome. What kind of magic was it - and more importantly, what was going on in the outside world beyond it?


	4. Unpleasant Surprises

Later that evening, Harry was sitting in the common room, getting thoroughly thrashed at wizard chess by Ron. It was difficult to find much fun in a game where he was so obviously out of his depth, but anything was better than trying to sleep. He found that the mental walls he'd managed to put up during his safely grey and boring existence with the Dursleys were lower here at Hogwarts. Too many things made him think of Sirius, and Cedric, and all the other horrible mistakes he'd made that had hurt other people.

"Go on, thump him!" Ron cheered on a plucky pawn that was doing a remarkable job of beating up one of Harry's much more imposing castles. He really _wasn't_ any good at this game - he found chess tough at the best of times, and after losing to Ron so many times his pieces were openly rebellious, questioning every move he tried to make.

Harry didn't look up as he heard the Fat Lady's portrait swing open, but he did at the sound of somebody tripping over on their way in. "Hi, Neville," he said, before he'd even finished turning.

It was nice to know some things didn't change.

Neville's round face was flushed with worry. He glanced at a group of second-years playing Exploding Snap, and came all the way over to their table before starting to speak.

"Harry! I was just up in the Owlery," he hissed. "I wanted to send a message to my gran, but the owl came right back with my letter still attached!"

"You think something's happened to her?" Ron said, paling. Voldemort might have been suspiciously quiet over the summer, but there had still been all too many disappearances, and not all of them the result of panic or evacuation.

But Neville shook his head. "_Nothing_ could happen to my grandmother," he said, quite firmly. Having met Mrs. Longbottom on a few brief occasions, Harry had to privately concur. Any Death Eaters who tried to mess with Neville's gran would probably be very, very sorry. "Anyway, I don't think the owls can even go out. It was only gone for a couple of minutes - it must have flown around the grounds and come back."

"The owls must be trapped in by the barrier as well," Harry realised. It hadn't occurred to him that this might be a consequence of their isolation from the outside world, but he supposed it only made sense.

Ron, however, looked gobsmacked. "Harry - do you have any idea what kind of magic it takes to stop the owl post?"

"No?" he said tentatively.

"Neither do I, but it's got to be a lot! I mean, the Apparating shield is one thing, but this... The owls are supposed to be able to go anywhere. Doesn't matter if it's supposed to be Unplottable, or under the Fidelius Charm, or anything. Everybody needs to get messages, so practically every defensive spell ever made has a loophole for the owl post." He shook his head. "Hermione was right. This can't be just to keep You-Know- er, Vol-"

"Voldemort," Harry supplied, and the other two controlled their flinches.

"-_Him_ from getting in," Ron continued. "They wouldn't seal _everything_ just to shield us from Dark wizards trying to get in."

"There's something _else_ out there," said Neville nervously. They all fell silent.

* * *

That night, Harry tossed and turned in bed, finding it difficult to sleep. Both bad memories and new worries nagged at him. What if something horrible happened to- to Lupin, or the Weasleys, or anybody? What if it had _already_ happened? With the owls unable to travel back and forth, they'd never even know about it. What on earth was Dumbledore playing at, isolating the whole school like this?

It took him so long to finally get to sleep that he didn't wake up at his usual time, and would have missed breakfast if Ron hadn't shaken him awake and dragged him down there. Hermione, like Harry, didn't immediately see the significance of cutting off the owl post, but she certainly saw the inconvenience.

"What are they going to do?" she wondered. "Practically everybody writes home to their parents! Probably no one but the first-years will be trying to send anything for the first few days, but sooner or later everyone's going to realise that we can't send messages. Professor Dumbledore will have to say _something_."

"Dumbledore doesn't _have_ to do anything," Harry pointed out darkly. "Who does he answer to now? He barely listened to the Ministry of Magic before, and now not even the Governors or the parents can get messages to him."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Really, Harry, you're acting as if you think he's planning a military coup. Even if he _can't_ get any information from the outside world, he's not going to suddenly start plotting or anything."

"Yeah, Harry, Dumbledore knows what he's doing," Ron agreed, a trifle uneasily. But Harry wasn't at all sure that he did. Not after last year.

"Anyway, we have to be going, or we'll be late for Defence Against the Dark Arts," Hermione said, gathering up the books she'd been poring over at the breakfast table. Harry jumped up, having forgotten that it was their first session of that class this morning.

"Who do you reckon is going to be taking us for the NEWT class, then?" Ron wondered, as they made their way through the busy corridors. "If the new teacher hasn't arrived, then it'll have to be one of the other staff. Maybe it'll even be Dumbledore himself!"

"Professor Dumbledore taught Transfiguration, remember?" Hermione reminded him.

"So? Come on, Hermione, it's not like he's underqualified or anything! Besides, how could anybody be worse than Lockhart?"

"And anyway, I'm sure he's much too busy," she said firmly.

They filed into the Defence classroom, amidst all the expectant murmurs. "Hey, Harry, are you teaching us this year?" called Terry Boot cheerfully from across the room. Harry almost blushed, but managed to switch on what he hoped was a coolly casual smile when he saw Malfoy glaring at him. The room was packed; it looked like everybody who hadn't failed the OWL spectacularly had opted to stay on for the NEWT.

Ron had his fingers crossed, and was chanting faintly to himself. "Let it be good this year. Let it be a _good_ class this year," Harry heard him saying.

"Er... Ron..." Hermione sounded disturbed. Harry followed her gaze to the doorway - and nearly swallowed his tongue in horror.

_Oh, no. Please say no._

The teacher in the doorway was none other than Severus Snape.

Ron began thumping his head on the desk in a rhythmic and painful-sounding manner. Harry was very tempted to join him.

Snape strode through the classroom, which fell silent row by row in a sort of Mexican wave of dismay. He executed a sharp about-turn at the front, and slammed the door with an abrupt flick of his wand.

"The door is locked," he said shortly. "Any students who are not on time will not be permitted to enter the lesson. Nobody will be permitted to leave early, _for any reason_. You are here to _learn_, and the topic of this class is self-defence. I am not prepared to make allowances for students too slovenly to make an effort even in matters of their own personal safety."

In an astonishing act of bravery, Hannah Abbott raised a hand. "Er, Professor... will you be teaching us for the whole year?"

Snape's lips thinned. "It appears that nobody was prepared to take on the onerous task of drumming basic defensive skills into your woefully inadequate minds, for which we can only applaud the unemployed of the education world for their wisdom. Therefore, tuition in this subject is being handled by various other members of staff, according to the gaps available in their timetables. To my great misfortune, the sessions for the sixth-year Defence group coincide with mine."

Ron, who had stopped thumping his head against the desktop, began to do it again. A few seats away, Neville gulped loudly, and with a look of abject misery attempted to shrink down in his chair until he was invisible. Harry was feeling pretty damn rotten himself. Ron and Neville were _lucky_ \- at least they only had three lessons a week with Snape. He was going to have _six_!

Fully half his timetable, given over to lessons with Snape? He was suddenly thinking longingly of summer with the Dursleys.

"_Accio_ orb!" Snape snapped suddenly, making half the class flinch. In Potions lessons, they rarely actually saw him use spells. He frowned on the students using spoken spells at all, insisting that even grindingly dull menial tasks like stirring a potion for an hour be done by hand.

A dark grey sphere, roughly the size of a Bludger, rose up from the desk and streaked towards his hand, but stopped several inches away, as if it had hit an invisible cushion. "Who in this class, who is not named Granger, can tell me what this is?"

Anthony Goldstein raised a hand. "It's a curse ball."

Snape barely acknowledged this correct answer. "And what does it do... Miss Bones?"

Susan jumped and scrambled for an answer. "It- um, it's a-"

"One point from Hufflepuff for lack of background reading, and four more for failure to come up with an educated guess from context." Snape's eyes narrowed as he spotted another victim. "Mr. Weasley."

Harry could see Hermione almost physically restraining herself from blurting it out as Ron fumbled for the definition. "It, er, you fire curses at it, and it absorbs them. Except it doesn't always."

The professor sneered. "Correct, and yet remarkably stupidly expressed."

Snape tapped the hovering curse ball with his wand, and it briefly glowed red before beginning to dart about in a random manner that reminded Harry somewhat of the Golden Snitch.

"The curse ball," Snape continued, "is a duelling aid supplied to students who are too incompetent to be trusted firing spells at a real live opponent. Naturally, therefore, you will be seeing a lot of it." Neville leaned back in dismay as the orb chose that moment to swoop dangerously close to him.

"When you fire a spell at the curse ball, it absorbs the energy, recording damage according to the strength of the spell, and analyses it. From that point on, the orb is capable of targeting anybody designated an enemy with the same spell that was used on it. Hence, the more different forms of attack you use, the more dangerous the curse ball becomes in response. However, if you should attempt to circumvent this by repeatedly using the same hex, within three to five attacks the curse ball will have learned to reflect it back at the caster. Therefore, it is necessary not just to remember which spells you have used, but also those cast by everybody else around you."

Snape pointed his wand at the dancing curse ball, and said, "_Scopus Omnio!_" Immediately, everybody in the room including Snape himself exhibited a small blue circle of light hovering above their wand hand. Curious, Harry waggled his arm, and found that the circle followed his movements.

Snape turned the wand on himself. "_Excludere!_" His own blue circle winked out. Clearly, he had no intention of being targeted by the curse ball himself. He surveyed the room, with a look that eloquently expressed how little it impressed him. "Mr. Malfoy," he said. "Kindly cast the first spell."

Malfoy smirked and raised his wand. "_Accendio!_" There was a brief flare of flame before the curse ball managed to absorb it, and Harry recognised it for a pretty strong fire-starting spell.

_Idiot_, he thought contemptuously. Of course, Malfoy would show off and use a flashy spell. And now the curse ball could cast it at any one of them! It was obvious that the only way to do well was to start with really low-level spells that it wouldn't matter to take hits from, and build up to more powerful hexes gradually.

The blue glow above Malfoy's hand had turned into the number eight, and Harry realised then that the circles were actually zeros. A points system? Well, this was one game he was pretty sure he could do well at.

The air was soon thick with flying curses. Harry got in one of the first Stun spells, and managed to keep up a fairly constant barrage of hexes, though it was amazing how quickly everything went blank when it came to trying to remember one he hadn't used yet. Unfortunately, even though he and a couple of others were managing to think tactically, a lot of people weren't, and the curse ball was firing off and reflecting spells all over the place. By the time Snape stopped the chaotic practise session, almost nobody was completely unscathed. Harry himself had got off relatively lightly, with nothing more than a slightly wobbly left leg and a scorched patch on one sleeve. Poor Ernie Macmillan had pink feathers and spots, and Dean Thomas appeared to have been half transfigured into a gorilla.

Harry hadn't had much of a chance to consult his score while he was struggling to survive, but he glanced at it now, and saw that it read forty-seven. Looking around, he saw that most people's scores were much lower, although Hermione had a sixty-three. Ron and Neville both had respectable scores in the upper thirties, and Harry was proud to see that most of the students he'd trained in Defence last year had done better than their comrades. Malfoy, annoyingly, had two points more than he did, but he also had purple hair and the lower six inches of his robes missing, so Harry considered it a victory.

Snape sneered at the panting, exhausted survivors of the exercise. He woke Theodore Nott and Lisa Turpin, who had both been caught by Stun spells, but made no move to help anybody else.

"A disgraceful display," he said coldly, stalking between the rows of desks. He flicked his wand, and the hovering numbers left the students they were anchored to, taking on house colours as they flocked together and merged until there were only four final scores visible. Gryffindor red stood the clear winner at 218, with Ravenclaw narrowly beating Slytherin to second, and Hufflepuff lagging some way behind.

Snape regarded the scores, and curled his lip. "Ten points from Hufflepuff." Draco Malfoy started to smirk. "And five from Slytherin."

There was a gasp of complete shock, followed by dead silence. Snape, taking points _off_ house Slytherin for poor performance? Harry shared an incredulous glance with Ron.

Fortunately, Snape didn't continue the scoring to its logical conclusion and award points to Gryffindor for winning. Harry didn't think his heart would have withstood the shock if he had.

"Perhaps I was not entirely clear," the teacher said curtly, not sparing so much as a glance for his flabbergasted house members. "There will be _no_ mollycoddling in this class. Everyone will perform, or they will leave." He narrowed his eyes. "Return to your desks. The practical part of the lesson is over."

The students limped - if they were fortunate; wobbled, hopped, danced or even slithered if they were not - slowly back to their chairs. Justin Finch-Fletchley, currently custard yellow and exhibiting what appeared to be scales, cautiously raised a hand.

"Er, Professor? Could we...?"

"You will complete the lesson in your current condition," Snape said flatly. "In future, perhaps, you will be more aware of the consequences of stupidity. Open your books, and turn to the third chapter."

Harry found, to his surprise, that the rest of the double lesson actually seemed to pass quite quickly. Snape was as horrible as ever, but the adrenaline boost of the early part of the class made it easier to rise above it. He didn't even mind the homework assignment; after all the background reading he'd done last year trying desperately to come up with ways to train his students, he was confident he could complete it without difficulty.

Ron, still occasionally hiccoughing green bubbles but otherwise relatively unscathed, shook his head in amazement as they left the classroom. "Is it me - or was the first part of that actually _fun_?"

Harry grinned. "I never, _ever_ thought I'd say this about a lesson with Snape..." he admitted, "but that was definitely better than Umbridge _or_ Lockhart."

"Professor Snape is actually a very good teacher, you know," Hermione said, while they both pulled disgusted faces. "Well, he is! He's very informative, and he certainly knows what he's talking about. He just also happens to be a _complete_-"

"Hermione!" Ron gasped, laughing in surprise.

"-ly unpleasant person, is how I was going to finish, Ron," Hermione said sternly. But then she giggled, and linked arms with both of them to drag them along. "Come on, let's get to Transfiguration. I promised Neville I'd help him get rid of those tentacles before Professor McGonagall sees him."


	5. Hermione's Plan

Hermione disappeared into the library after their last Transfiguration lesson on Friday afternoon, which didn't surprise Harry in the slightest; minor considerations like having the whole weekend to work on homework had never stopped her before. However, it wasn't Pattern Realignment in Phasing Transmogrification she wanted to talk about when she dumped a pile of books on the common room table on Sunday morning.

"I've been looking up ways for us to try and see through the dome," she announced, beginning to rifle through the thickest tome in search of her bookmarks. The room was fairly quiet; it was not yet quite noon, and most people were either still up in their dorms or out seeking lunch.

Ron frowned. "Why do we need to see _through_ the dome? We already _know_ what's out there."

"Do we?" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "It can't possibly be difficult to make a protective barrier that you can see out of. Almost all the standard designs are transparent, you know. It says so in the introduction to _Shield Charms for Office, Home and Garden_. They're not made out of solid matter, you see, so it actually takes _more_ effort to charm the air to project a film of-"

"So what you're saying is, they must have made it untransparent for a reason," Ron interrupted, before she could launch into a full lecture on the properties of Shield Charms.

She gave him a look. "Opaque, Ron. And yes."

"What don't they want us to see?" Harry wondered.

"That's exactly what we need to see through it to find out," Hermione said firmly.

"You can't just make the whole thing go invisible!" Ron objected. "Everyone would notice."

"We wouldn't need to alter the _whole_ thing," she explained patiently. "If you look at the dome, it's obviously made with tie-points..."

"Obviously," Ron said sarcastically.

"It's not a true hemisphere," she elaborated. "If you look at it closely, it's made up of a lot of flat planes linked together, so we should be able to cast a spell on one facet without altering the others at all."

"How can you stand to look closely at that thing?" Harry wanted to know. "It makes your eyeballs feel like they're melting."

"It's much less difficult to look at if you go out at night. I expect it's designed to refract the sunlight."

"What were _you_ doing sneaking out at night?" Ron asked, half admiring and half suspicious.

Hermione smiled smugly. "Obviously, it's my duty as a Prefect to take a look outside if I think I hear anybody out of bed when they shouldn't be."

"So you think you've found a charm that will let us see through it?" Harry asked. It was a fair bet; Hermione didn't like to present an idea until she already had all the answers covered.

"Yes. I was stuck for a while, but then I realised what you need to do is handle the moving particles _first_..." She picked up Ron's glass of Pumpkin Juice, and placed one hand over the top while she shook it.

"Hey!"

"Watch." She tapped the side of the glass with her wand while the juice was still swirling. "_Agitaro Comprimere!_" Abruptly, the liquid was as calm as the lake on a windless day. "_Glassio!_"

"Wow!" Ron raised his glass to eye level, and peered through it at her. The juice was now as clear as water. "Can I drink this?"

"Of course. It's still pumpkin juice."

He took a sip. "You could market this. Pumpkin Clear! Or you could cast it on Firewhisky - people would think you were drinking water!"

"It doesn't last very long." She shot down any alcoholic ambitions with a sharp look. "But it should be long enough for us to get a good look at what's on the other side of that dome."

"That's great, Hermione." Harry smiled. At last, a chance to push past the secrets that people were keeping 'for his own good' and see what was really going on.

She stood up, gathering her books again. "We can go out and look tonight. I have to get back to the library now."

"Hermione-"

"I've been neglecting my homework to do this," she said, as if they ought to be gasping in horror to hear as much. "I have to get started on that Transfiguration essay, or I don't know _what_ I'll do!" She hurried off.

Ron shook his head. "Stark raving bonkers," he pronounced.

"But smart," said Harry.

"Yeah." He held up his pumpkin juice, which was beginning to both turn orange and begin moving again, creating a rather impressive-looking colourful swirl. "Wicked," he said, and drank the rest of it.

* * *

They crept out that night under Harry's Invisibility Cloak. Or, to be more accurate, they just crept out, with the Invisibility Cloak on hand in case of emergencies. Harry was still shorter and skinnier than most of the boys in his year, but he had grown closer to what he supposed would be his adult height, while Ron had suddenly developed broad shoulders, and Hermione had developed... Well, she certainly had. Anyway, squeezing the three of them together under a cloak that they'd quite comfortably shared back when they were eleven was now a bit awkward all round, really. It was fortunate that they had the Marauder's Map to give them enough advance warning to duck around corners.

They managed to get outside without being spotted, and made their way over to the nearest section of the dome. Hermione was right; it was much easier to look at in the dark. The eye-sucking colour combinations were replaced with shades of grey; they still twisted almost hypnotically, but they didn't hurt quite so much to examine.

Hermione drew her wand and frowned thoughtfully, looking for something that Harry obviously wasn't clued in enough to see. Finally she drew out a set of lines with the tip, close to the dome but not quite touching it, and said "_Margium Foci!_" A square appeared, picked out in glowing white lines.

"You didn't do that before!" Ron said. She rolled her eyes.

"That's because it was in a _cup_, Ron."

"I was just _observing_," he said, affronted. "You're always on at me to pay attention to the details, you keep saying 'Ron, you've got to-'"

"Yes, right, fine. Good observing," Harry said, keen to get on with it before Hermione could make some comment on the high-pitched, whiny tone Ron had chosen for his impression of her, and they ended up getting caught still standing here at dawn because the two of them couldn't stop bickering. "Can we-?"

"Yes, of course." Hermione, at least, could be easily refocused by waving work at her. She concentrated. "_Agitaro Comprimere!_"

Harry thought that the movement of the silver swirls seemed a little more sluggish, but they didn't stop dead like Ron's pumpkin juice had. Hermione bit her lip, and tried again. "_Agitaro Comprimere!_" Still nothing.

"Maybe it needs more power," Ron suggested. "If I cast it on one side, and Harry does it on the other, and you-"

"Yes, that might work." She seemed grateful for the suggestion, and Harry wondered if perhaps the two of them were at last getting the hang of burying their little disagreements _quickly_. He really wouldn't mind the blow-ups nearly so much if it wasn't for the lingering sulking afterwards.

They cast the spell together, and the freezing effect was noticeably stronger. It took several attempts, but finally their pane of the dome had grown completely still, resembling a sheet of silver paper hanging in the air.

"Will that do it?" asked Harry.

"I think so." Hermione raised her wand. "_Glassio!_"

A circular patch of darkness appeared in the middle of the square. Of course, it was every bit as difficult to make anything out through as the window of a well lit room when it was night outside.

"Can't see a bloody thing," Ron commented, after a moment.

"Harry, you look," Hermione suggested. "You must have sharp eyesight with your glasses on, the way you're always so good at finding the Snitch in Quidditch."

Quidditch. Harry suppressed a momentary pang of loss. He'd had his broom confiscated last year, and he doubted very much there would be any matches this year. He supposed he might as well give up his favourite hobby as yet another childhood thing his life no longer had room for.

He shuffled as close to the dome as he dared, and shielded his eyes as squinted through the darkness. He could just make out... branches? "I can see- It looks like trees or something." But there shouldn't be any trees outside this part of the grounds. "I can't really tell... There's definitely something in front of the dome, and it looks like it has branches or something..."

And why did he have a sudden mental flash of dark snakes bursting out of the ground, like an image from a movie he'd seen sometime and then all but forgotten?

"Harry-" Hermione suddenly sounded worried. He twisted around - and a hand fell on his shoulder.

"Ah. Harry." Professor Dumbledore smiled at him warmly. Professor McGonagall hovered by his shoulder, looking considerably more disapproving.

"Mr. Potter. Miss Granger. Mr. Weasley. I would have thought the three of you should know better than anyone that this is _hardly_ the time to be making midnight excursions. As Prefects, the two of you should know better, and Harry-"

Fortunately, Dumbledore cut off the pending lecture about how he, the famous Harry Potter, should know exactly why to behave himself by wandering over to inspect Hermione's handiwork. McGonagall saw it, and gasped.

"A breach in the spell?" She turned on the three of them, startled. "You cannot _possibly_ have believed it was in any way responsible to-"

"We didn't breach it!" Harry said hastily. Hermione had gone deathly pale, never one to take a dressing-down for rulebreaking lightly.

"Hermione figured out a way to look through it without damaging it," Ron said, sounding rather proud, although failing to consider that he was dropping her further in it. But then, that was rather Ron all over.

However, Dumbledore smiled at the three of them, as if more pleased than disapproving of their temerity. "Ah, most clever, Miss Granger. Most clever indeed. I can see we are quite wasting our time trying to keep any secrets from you. However, as I'm sure you'll find: knowing and understanding are two quite different things."

"Professor - what's out there?" Harry asked directly. There was no point pretending they hadn't been trying to find out.

Professor Dumbledore gave a small, frustratingly enigmatic smile. "Things are... in a state of upheaval at the moment, Mr. Potter. There are forces at work... it would not be safe for anybody to leave the grounds at this time."

Hermione forgot her apprehension to frown over his words. "Then the dome isn't to protect us from invaders at all - it's to keep us in?"

"On the contrary, Miss Granger, there are dangers indeed lurking outside the school grounds. It is well that your spell did not truly create a hole in the wards, for what might have come through would not easily have been repulsed." Hermione gulped.

"Professor... are we under siege?" Harry asked anxiously.

"Of course not, Potter, let's not be melodramatic," McGonagall cut in sternly. "The dome is simply a safety precaution - one that sixth-year students should not be fooling around with!"

"We didn't-" Ron began. Dumbledore raised a hand.

"Your curiosity is only natural - and your resourcefulness does you credit. However, it would be best for all concerned that any information you may have gleaned tonight be kept between the three of you, and not shared any further."

"But we don't know anything!" said Ron.

"Excellent," said Dumbledore, with a twinkle.

This talk of keeping secrets reminded Harry of something he should have brought up earlier than this... and really didn't want to. He hesitated, and then took a deep breath. "Professor - my Occlumency lessons..." He didn't _want_ to continue them, but he knew he should. Professor McGonagall looked momentarily startled; he wondered if she'd even known he'd been learning. Strangely, that was almost comforting - that Dumbledore might be keeping his moves secret from everybody as a matter of course, and it was not just Harry alone on the outside all the time.

"Ah, yes. Certainly you will need to be prepared, when the time comes for you to meet Voldemort once again." The Headmaster looked rather tired and sad, and for a moment it was difficult to keep resenting him. "And meet him again you will... I am afraid there seems to be no way we can prevent that, ultimately." He straightened up. "However, such a time is not yet upon us, and I think that present circumstances are perhaps not the best for your lessons to resume. I doubt that either you or Professor Snape are in the correct frame of mind to get the best out of them."

Harry let out a silent sigh of relief at that, but Hermione's fears were not so easily assuaged. "But Professor, shouldn't Harry be learning to protect himself at the earliest opportunity?" Ron made his 'Hermione, what are you _doing_?' face out of sight of the teachers.

"Indeed. But I feel there is a chance that such lessons might... attract attention from certain forces that may be keeping us under observation, and that would not be well for anybody." He turned a serious look to Harry. "I trust, however, that you will contact either myself or Professor Snape immediately should you feel the first inkling of any indication that Voldemort is attempting to make contact or work through you. I do not think he will just yet... but if so, we will reconsider the matter of your Occlumency lessons."

Harry nodded sombrely. He'd learned his lesson last year; no keeping mysterious happenings to himself, no matter how private or unimportant they might seem. Dumbledore might keep him in the dark, but trying to return the treatment might only get somebody killed.

_Like Sirius._

It made him angry, but he knew he had to accept it. For better or worse, he was Dumbledore's puppet. If nobody would let him see the whole of the picture, then all he could do was keep reporting back what little he did see, in the hope that it would prevent him from being led to a terrible fate.

"And now, the three of you should be getting back to your beds," McGonagall said, in a voice that brooked no argument. "I will not take house points from you on this - and _only_ this - occasion, but if you meet any of the other staff on your way back, you will take any punishment they assign you without complaint."

"Yes, Professor," Harry said, grateful for even that much. With the Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder's Map, they should be able to find their way back to Gryffindor Tower without being spotted.

"You will find that Professor Snape is on duty by the Owlery tonight," Dumbledore informed them helpfully, with a wink. They headed back into the school.

"What d'you reckon all that was about, Harry?" Ron asked, after Hermione had returned to the girls' dorms and they were safely back in their beds, where they couldn't be interrupted by anyone but their sleeping roommates.

"I don't know." He bit his lip worriedly. "Neville was right - there _is_ something out there. But whatever it is, Dumbledore is just as worried about _us_ seeing it as it getting inside. It can't just be the Death Eaters, it's not as if they'd be camped outside the whole year staring at us."

"Do you think it's the Dementors again?" said Ron nervously.

Harry shuddered involuntarily. "I hope not. Because if they're here... who's guarding Azkaban?"

Other possibilities swirled through his mind, but before he could give voice to them, Ron had begun to snore. Harry turned over on his side, and tried to get to sleep.

It took him a long while, and as soon as his eyes snapped open the next morning, he knew he'd overslept. His roommates were still snoring away - but none of them had Potions first thing. He had less than a minute to throw on his clothes and run all the way down to the dungeons: there was no way he was going to make it.

"Mr. Potter, the fact that you have only achieved part of the grade required to qualify for this NEWT class does not mean you are permitted to only attend part of the lessons," Snape said coldly as he scurried in.

Hermione, of course, was on time and perfectly organized despite the fact she'd been up just as late as he had. Harry attempted to slink into the seat next to her.

"Next to Miss Parkinson, Potter. You will not be copying the notes you have so carelessly missed from your Gryffindor partner in crime."

Harry was stuck with the twin joys of sitting next to Pansy and having the worst seat in the class, the one right by the door where the cold dungeon air kept creeping in and ended up giving you a backache. At least in the NEWT-level class they were expected to work on potions on their own - he shuddered to think what misery Snape would put him through assigning him partners. Most of the class was made up of either Slytherins or the most standoffish and snobby of the Ravenclaws. Those few, he supposed, who could put up with Snape's manner in return for what he could teach them.

The Potion of Purification was a particularly complex brew to put together, and Harry kept double and triple checking the instructions, more determined than ever not to make some careless mistake Snape could seize upon. _Let's see..._ Blackberry leaves, crushed. He peered carefully into the dish to see the results of his handiwork. Well, they'd definitely been pulverised - what was the difference between 'crushed' and 'mashed'? Hermione would know, but she was too far away to surreptitiously ask her. He stirred them in, hoping it didn't make much difference.

Right - what was next? Basil. Well, this was really rather a pleasant set of ingredients, as potions went... Oh. And salamander blood. There went the relatively enjoyable smell.

He carefully poured himself out a measure of the noxious liquid... and then slopped it all over his hand as the door was thrown open and a distraught first-year careened into the corner of his desk. Harry winced, biting back a word that would have had points taken off by any teacher, not just one who hated him as much as Snape, and scrubbed his hand on his robes. Salamander blood retained heat, and he was likely to have a nasty blister, if not worse.

"Professor Snape!" The intruder was a red-faced boy Harry vaguely recalled seeing sorted into Slytherin. He was showing nothing of his house's preferred lack of softer emotions as he gabbled out his message. "It's Emma Aufstand - she's been attacked!"


	6. The Clue in the Library

Harry was itching to take off after Snape and find out what was happening, but of course there was no such opportunity. The Potions master had simply stalked out, with a curt order to stay at their desks and finish their potions as instructed. Knowing Snape's attitude rather well after the past five years, no one in the class even thought about ditching their work and following him.

At least he could talk to Hermione now.

"Who's Emma Aufstand?" he asked, as they met over the powdered alligator teeth.

"Slytherin. She's in Ginny's year." Hermione looked nervous. "What do you think attacked her?"

"I don't know." His mind was racing. His first thought had been Death Eaters - but no, they couldn't get through the dome outside, and they wouldn't have been left here in the classroom if there were hostile forces loose. One of Hagrid's beasts, escaped from its pen?

Beside him, Hermione shuddered. "This reminds me of the second year," she said softly. Harry remembered that she herself had been one of the unfortunates Petrified when the Basilisk was freed from the Chamber of Secrets, and gave her a small smile. He'd slain the Basilisk himself - run it through with the Sword of Gryffindor - but what if something _else_ was lurking in some forgotten corner of the school, waiting to be released?

Despite being distracted, he managed to finish the potion, and got it to _almost_ the same colour and consistency as Hermione's. He was much better at Potions when he didn't have Snape standing over him making snide comments. And with Hermione advising, admittedly.

Snape still hadn't returned by the last ten minutes of the lesson, and despite knowing full well that Draco Malfoy would be reporting it, Harry left the class early. "I'm going to the hospital wing," he told Hermione, and waved his hand at her when she started giving him her 'Oh, _Harry_-' look. "I spilled some salamander blood on my hand. It's quite bad, actually."

It _was_ quite bad, actually, and started to throb rather nastily as soon as he was out of the room without the classwork to distract him. By the time he was outside the hospital wing, he'd almost completely convinced himself that his reasons for being there could be construed as entirely innocent.

Which didn't mean he wasn't going to eavesdrop, of course.

Madam Pomfrey tutted disapprovingly over the wound and went off to fetch a tub of Balthazar Binwick's Burn-Eze, while Harry tried to listen in to what was going on over at the far bed with the curtains drawn around it. It had to be Emma Aufstand's; he recognised Snape's voice.

"-dungeons... seems to have been... by one of the..." Harry cursed that familiar silky soft tone, somehow every bit as loud as it needed to be in the classroom, but near impossible to pick up now.

"And none of the efforts to revive her were successful?" That was McGonagall. At least her practised deputy-headmistress's tones were easy to make out. She could probably articulate a whisper with perfect diction.

"...tried the... Headmaster warned this could be..." Harry lost a whole section of the conversation in a rustle of cloth as Snape moved around the bed. "-have a potion that might work."

"Your potions, at least, should be unaffected," McGonagall said. Harry didn't think it was a question, but it was difficult to tell.

"For the moment," Snape said flatly.

"Here you are, Mr. Potter." Harry jumped as Madam Pomfrey arrived with his burn ointment. "Hold out the back of your hand." He did; the thick green ooze she slathered on burned nearly as badly as the salamander's blood. "Kindly try to be more careful in your classes in future; our medical supplies aren't inexhaustible, you know."

Harry blinked. It was the first time he could remember any such admission being made, and a moment later he could have thumped himself in the forehead for his stupidity. Of course, if no owls and no people could leave the school, how would the infirmary be able to restock its medical stores, or Snape refill his cupboards of ingredients? They couldn't trade with Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley, so they were presumably limited to what they had in the castle right now, and whatever potions could be made from ingredients gathered at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

"Sorry. I'll be more careful." He made a mental note to ask Hermione about healing charms; surely there were at least a few he could learn to handle cuts and minor burns and things? Judging by past experience, even if there was no Quidditch this year he'd still find plenty of ways to injure himself.

The matron gave him a smile. "No harm done, but mind yourself," she cautioned. "Come the summer term, we're apt to be down to our last dregs if everybody-"

"The dome's going to be up that long?" Harry blurted, startled.

Madam Pomfrey looked slightly stricken. "Now, now, I wouldn't know about that," she said hastily. "And don't go telling any of your friends I told you so - I'm just doing my job, preparing for the worst. Now you run along back to class before you're late."

He didn't actually have a lesson now, but he left anyway - he could hardly have hung around in hopes of eavesdropping more with Madam Pomfrey there. Finding the others was easy; if Hermione had a clock to point her location like the one in the Weasley family kitchen, between lessons it would always point due library.

Ron was there too, looking decidedly less enthusiastic as he fiddled with the binding of _Fighting Fungi and Venomous Vegetables - A Guide to Dangerous Plants_. Harry rather wished he could have stuck with Herbology; it hadn't been his best of lessons, but it was easy work and a chance to be out in the sunlight instead of trapped in a cramped classroom. But if he wanted to be an Auror, he had no choice but to stick with the classes he'd picked.

"Harry!" Ron looked grateful for the distraction. "Did you find out what's happened?"

He sat down opposite his friends, pretending not to notice a sharp glare from Madam Pince. "Not really," he admitted. "Whatever attacked her, I don't think they've managed to wake her up yet. McGonagall said something about their magic being affected by something - everything other than potions, I think."

That pulled Hermione's attention out of the thick tome she had her nose stuck in. "That's odd," she said, with a frown. "Do you think perhaps the staff could all be helping maintain the dome? If they're channelling power into other things, that might explain why wand-work would be affected, while Professor Snape's potions would be just as strong as ever."

"Maybe he planned the whole attack, just so people would think his potions were extra-indispensable," Ron suggested enthusiastically.

"Oh, _really_, Ronald." Hermione glowered at him, and stalked off to the far end of the library to reshelve a book. Ron shrugged innocently.

"What did I say?"

Harry doubted even Snape had quite reached the point of attempting to bump off students just to give himself an ego boost, but sadly, no better theories were forthcoming. None of the teachers had said anything about the attack, although the rumour mill was rampant.

Everybody was a bit distracted and worried, and tempers grew short. Hermione got irritable with him in Charms because his daydreaming and the still-healing burn on his hand combined to make him absolutely hopeless at controlling his Dusting Charm. Then Ron made the mistake of arguing with her when she headed straight back to the library after class, so she stayed over there in a huff all afternoon, and Ron was in a foul mood. It was a miserable evening.

Harry finally escaped from Gryffindor Tower to go up to the Owlery, which at least was nice and peaceful this late now that everybody had discovered they couldn't send messages home. Hedwig nipped at his fingers disapprovingly, probably chiding him for his clumsiness in getting injured.

"I know, I know, it wasn't _my_ fault," he grumbled to her. He looked out at the silver filigree of the dome, much less of an eyesore in the darkness. It made him think of moonlight, which in turn made him think of Lupin and wish he could have been teaching this year... and thoughts of Lupin led, of course, unerringly back to thoughts of Sirius...

He stayed up in the Owlery for a long time, stroking Hedwig's feathers almost mechanically while his mind was a million miles away, preoccupied with thoughts of doom and gloom.

* * *

"Harry!"

Startled out of his near-trance, Harry whipped around to see Ron's disembodied head emerging from under his Invisibility Cloak.

"Sorry I borrowed your cloak. Filch was about. You've got to come down to the library. Hermione's gone _mental_!"

Harry joined him under the Cloak, and they made their slightly awkward way down the stairs together. Harry gaped at the clock at the bottom as they passed it - it was much, _much_ later than he'd realised it was.

"Why's Hermione still in the library after midnight?" he wondered.

"I'm telling you, she's gone completely crackers," Ron insisted. "She came bursting into the common room - I was waiting up for you - and she was babbling all sorts of nonsense about how she'd fallen asleep and the library was sending her messages."

"Sending her messages?"

"I know. She's finally done it. She's read so many books her brain's exploded!"

But, as it turned out, Hermione was telling the unvarnished truth. Above the entrance to the library, where there had been nothing but blank wall only hours before, there had appeared what looked like three verses of poetry, seemingly chiselled into the wall.

"I copied it down when it first appeared, just in case it didn't stay," Hermione said, thrusting a scroll into their hands. Harry transferred his gaze to that; it was easier to make out Hermione's neat, small handwriting than the carved message in the little light that was all they were prepared to risk.

It was indeed a poem, and a rather bizarre one at that. Harry frowned over the verses.

> _Four pieces do the puzzle make  
> Without each, you are lost  
> And if you would for freedom break  
> Find them at any cost _
> 
> _Open to all, but not to all  
> The riddles that I send  
> To know the secrets of the school  
> Your enemies befriend _
> 
> _We call them homes, though none there dwell  
> But there does rest its head  
> A body that lives nine months well  
> And in the rest is dead _

"It's some kind of puzzle," he said aloud. "Like the clues for the Triwizard Tournament." Another unpleasant memory...

"A clue to what?" Ron asked.

"'If you would for freedom break...'" Hermione mused.

"Maybe it leads to a hidden passage out of the castle!" said Ron enthusiastically. "You know what Hogwarts is like. This could be a special secret message that only appears on the third Monday in September every two hundred and thirty-seven years or something."

"It's Tuesday now, Ron," she corrected absently.

"I don't fancy that bit about 'your enemies befriend'," Harry observed. "If I have to get cosy with Voldemort to find a secret passage, I don't think it's worth the effort!"

"It's probably rhetorical." Hermione rolled up her copy of the message and tucked it away. "We have to tell a teacher about this."

"Hermione!" they protested in chorus.

"It might be important! It could endanger the castle." She smiled slightly. "And anyway. Ron and I have to tell a teacher, so Harry can follow us in his Invisibility Cloak and overhear what they say about it afterwards, when they've sent us to bed without telling us anything."

She strode off towards the staff room, while Harry and Ron exchanged shocked and admiring looks.

"She really _is_ a genius!" said Ron.

* * *

Perhaps not surprisingly after this morning's incident, the staff room was still occupied despite the late hour. Professors McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout tumbled out hastily in response to Hermione's knock. Professor McGonagall was as immaculately turned-out as ever, but her response to seeing two of her Prefects out and about at this hour of the night was rather more alarmed than she usually let show. "Miss Granger! What are you doing out of bed so late? Has something happened?"

"Sorry to disturb you so late, Professor," Hermione said politely, "but something strange just happened in the library, and I really think you ought to come and see."

Professor McGonagall recovered her equilibrium, and with it a certain amount of indignant authority. "Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley - what on _earth_ were you doing in the library at this hour?"

Even through the silvery veil of the Cloak, Harry could tell that Hermione was blushing. "I must have fallen asleep... I was over in the far corner, Madam Pince must not have seen me when she left. Ron came to look for me when I didn't come back."

"Hmmph." Professor McGonagall seemed somewhat sceptical about this explanation, but let it slide. Harry followed under the Cloak as the three teachers followed his friends down to the library.

They all exclaimed over the engraved message. Hermione, sensibly, failed to mention that she'd made a copy of it for her own reference.

"Filius, will you be able to-?" Sprout queried. The little wizard nodded.

"Yes." He gave a wry smile. "With a little assistance getting up there, of course." The other staff kindly hid their smiles.

McGonagall turned to the two Gryffindor Prefects. "Granger, Weasley - it was very sensible of you to bring this to our attention as soon as you were aware of it. Five points to Gryffindor for quick thinking and acting responsibly. However, on the whole, I would prefer that in future, you were in your beds at this hour instead of wandering the halls. I suggest you return to your dorms immediately, and go to bed."

"Perhaps you should have clarified the 'separately'," Professor Sprout said wickedly once they were gone, and Harry had to clap his hands over his mouth to prevent a burst of startled laughter.

Professor McGonagall sniffed haughtily. "I really don't think that was called for."

"Sorry," she said, without meaning a bit of it.

"Although I must admit that if it was anyone other than Hermione Granger, I wouldn't believe that 'fell asleep studying' story for a moment."

Harry was seriously considering the viability of stuffing a fist into his mouth just to stop himself from guffawing out loud and giving the game away.

Fortunately for his health and sanity, they spent no more time discussing Ron and Hermione, but turned their attention to the inscription on the wall. Professor Flitwick used Madam Pince's magically extending shelf-ladder to get up close enough to examine it.

"Well?" asked McGonagall after a moment.

"It's definitely another one of Durand's," the Charms professor said.

"Can you hide it?" asked Professor Sprout.

Flitwick nodded confidently. "Simple illusion work - nothing to it. Not like that monster of a spell you had me working on the first day of term." He flicked his wand, and said a few syllables too quickly and fluidly for Harry to pick them up. The letters blended away into the stonework as if they'd never been.

"Oh, bravo," said Professor Sprout.

"I must confess, I was terrible at illusion work in school," said McGonagall. Harry was taken aback - it was hard to imagine Professor McGonagall being terrible at anything. He'd always imagined her as an earlier version of Hermione, industriously scribbling away in the library every spare minute.

"Of course you were, Minerva," Flitwick said brightly, leaping off the top of the ladder to drift gently down to the ground. He executed an elaborate bow. "You never had much patience for anything that isn't real."

"Quite so." She sniffed. "If you want to change it, transfigure it, that's what I say. No need for all this half-hearted messing around with glamours and elaborate disguises."

Flitwick theatrically gestured towards the enchanted wall. "Well, Minerva, if you'd _like_ to try your hand at transfiguring away the effects of the Curse of Durand..." he said with a smile.

"I think not, somehow," she said calmly. "It might prove to have an adverse effect on the entire enchantment. Best to leave well alone."

"That's her story, and she's sticking to it," said Sprout, and the three of them chuckled together. Harry smiled as he watched them, thinking how strange it was to see his teachers relaxing in each other's company, chatting and teasing each other like... well, _normal_ people. Who knew what they were like in the staff room together? Maybe even Snape...

No. Probably not Snape.

He drew back against the nearest bookcase as the three teachers moved past.

"Could have been tricky if that clue had been spotted first thing in the morning when the library was full," Flitwick observed. "It's as well a level-headed pair like Granger and Weasley were here to see it."

"Whatever they were doing," added Sprout.

Harry resisted the urge to chase them back to the staff room and find out what else they might gossip about, and headed back up to Gryffindor Tower. The common room was empty - he supposed Ron and Hermione hadn't dared take the chance that McGonagall might stop by to check they really had gone back to bed. Harry hurried up to the boys' dorms to share what he'd learned with Ron.

Ron had obviously stayed up to wait for him. He was sitting up in bed with his copy of _Flying With the Cannons_ open on his knees to help keep him awake.

He was also sound asleep. Harry smirked for a while, then carefully retrieved the book from his slack grip, and placed it on the nightstand. He tucked the Invisibility Cloak away in its hiding space and returned to his own bed, letting out a rippling yawn.

He could talk to Ron and Hermione in the morning.


	7. A Magical MixUp

As it happened, they all overslept, even Hermione, and couldn't get a free moment to talk in private at breakfast. They only got a chance to speak together as they hurried towards their Defence class.

"Well? What did they say?" Ron demanded.

Harry assembled his thoughts. "Well, Flitwick says the writing is a clue to something called the Curse of Durand. McGonagall thinks that if they transfigured it away instead of using an illusion to cover it up, it might have some kind of really bad side effects. And Sprout thinks that you two were snogging in the library."

Ron's ears went a quite satisfying shade of pink at that. Hermione just breezed straight past it as if it didn't matter in the slightest.

"The Curse of Durand - I don't remember ever reading anything about that. Harry, have you?"

"Hermione, we've _never_ read anything you don't know," Harry reminded her.

"Unless it's to do with Quidditch," added Ron.

"We'll have to scour the library for it," Hermione said. "_All_ the books this time, not just the most up-to-date ones." They all still remembered how they'd completely missed finding out about Nicholas Flamel in their first year, because none of them had thought they might be looking for a six-hundred-year-old wizard. She sighed. "Really, I just _wish_ the wizarding world would start using proper indexing practises, we'll be in the library forever!"

"Sounds like your idea of heaven," Ron said snidely. However, before Hermione could say anything in response, they'd walked into the classroom and under Snape's glare.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was a disaster from start to finish. This lesson they were covering some of the more difficult but powerful duelling hexes, and Snape split them into pairs. Harry, of course, got landed with Malfoy, and what was worse, he was expected to demonstrate a hex he'd never tried before in front of the whole class with no preparation.

"I _assume_ you've done the required background reading on this, Potter?" Snape said, voice thick with sarcasm. "Then of course, you'll have no trouble demonstrating for us exactly how a successful Shuddering Hex should go."

The Shuddering Hex was like a much more violent version of the Jelly Legs Jinx, causing the victim to shake so uncontrollably they would hopefully be unable to aim their wand. Harry _had_ done the specified reading... sort of. Since he'd already read up on much of this before, he'd simply skimmed the list of spells as a quick refresher and hoped that would be enough information. Malfoy smirked at him as he mentally raced to come up with the right incantation.

"_Maxum Horrero!_"

To his great humiliation, his wand produced a few grey sparks, and did absolutely nothing else. Malfoy made an exaggerated pretence of quaking in his boots, and there were a few nervous giggles across the classroom. Snape's lips twitched.

"Clearly, our resident expert has a few little... gaps in his education." He should have known Snape wouldn't take kindly to getting word of Harry's unofficial Defence lessons last year. "What's wrong, Potter? Finding things a little more difficult now you don't have your own private army to back you up?"

Harry scowled and raised his wand to try again, but Snape stopped him.

"This is a duelling lesson, Mr. Potter, not an exhibition class. In the real world, enemies seldom stand around and politely wait for you to keep going until you get it right."

_I know that!_ Snape knew full-well he'd been in more real-life combat situations than anybody else in this classroom. In a _real_ fight, he wouldn't be trying out a spell he'd never even practised before! He glowered helplessly as the Potions master gestured Malfoy forward.

"Five points from Gryffindor for a shameful lack of preparation. Mr. Malfoy. Perhaps you'd like to show Mr. Potter how it's done?"

Malfoy grinned smugly, and directed his wand towards Harry with a flourish. "_Maxum Horrero!_"

To Harry's ever-lasting glee, what came out of his wand was a spray of mist droplets and a small, rather sad purple frog. This time the ripple of laughter was much stronger.

Snape merely raised an eyebrow. "Longbottom, take Mr. Malfoy's place," he directed. "No doubt _you_ can show us all where your classmates have been going wrong." Neville stepped up, looking apologetically towards Harry and all but shaking in terror himself. Harry knew after last year that Neville was more than capable of keeping his head in a true crisis, but there was just something about being in front of Snape that tore his self-confidence into little bits.

"_Maxum Horrero!_"

Harry barely had time to brace himself before he was blasted off his feet by the force of the spell. He crashed into the desk behind him and sent it flying, every part of his body seeming to convulse of its own accord as if he was being electrocuted. It was a truly _spectacular_ Shuddering Hex.

There was a round of applause from everyone but the Slytherins. Snape was, naturally, unimpressed.

"Five points from Gryffindor for lack of control. Get _up_, Potter."

He couldn't. He had absolutely no command of his own body. His muscles were jittering away madly; standing over him Hermione raised a horrified hand to her mouth. He tried to speak, but his teeth were chattering too badly to get more than a useless buzz out.

Snape gave him a thoroughly disgusted look, and pointed his wand at Harry's chest. "_Laxare Torus!_"

The judders receded... somewhat. Harry was able to stand, but he staggered a little, and random twitches continued to assault him. For a moment he almost thought Snape looked a tiny bit taken aback - as if perhaps he'd expected Harry to be wholly cured instead of partly. The expression was gone quickly, and he couldn't be sure.

While the demonstrations continued, Harry limped over to join the others. He was beginning to think something was seriously amiss here. Neville's astonishing Shuddering Hex was one of the few spells that seemed to go right all lesson. About half the class was doing averagely, and the other half barely managing at all. And what was odd was that most of the people doing badly were the ones he would have considered the most competent in the class.

He would have written off his own failure with the Shuddering Hex as a momentary lapse, if it hadn't seemed to be part of a growing pattern. After watching Hermione - _Hermione_, of all people - flub a perfectly ordinary Hammer Hex, he was sure that there was something wrong.

As the torturous session finally came to an end, he moved to pull Ron and Hermione aside... and then thought better of it. What lesson had he learned again and again last year, and yet kept ignoring to make and remake the same mistakes? Harry gritted his teeth, and approached Professor Snape.

"Professor Snape?"

"What is it, Potter?" he demanded curtly.

Remembering what he'd overheard McGonagall saying in the hospital wing, Harry gestured in the direction of the window. "Professor - is it possible that the protective barrier outside is... interfering with people's spell-casting in some way? It seemed to me in class today that-"

The look Snape gave him was of course extremely cold, but - more annoyingly than that - unreadable. "Mr. Potter... kindly do not seek to pass off your own failure as a result of some kind of external interference. The Gryffindor method of charging in blindly and expecting sheer luck to carry the day may, for some unfathomable reason, be considered heroic by some, but in the real world such lack of preparation will simply get you killed. I suggest, if you actually intend to survive the coming years, you begin taking responsibility for your own actions... and stop looking to dead idiots for your role models."

That had Sirius's name written all over it, and Harry had to restrain a suddenly shockingly strong urge to deliver a backhanded slap that would knock that supercilious look right off the teacher's face. He made himself un-ball his fists, and stepped back.

Hermione came to Harry's defence. "Professor, I think Harry may be right. I was watching the class today, and I think-"

"Miss Granger, I do not recall asking for your input on this matter." Snape closed the book on the desk before him with a snap. "Especially since there is nothing to discuss. Now kindly leave the classroom immediately, as I have no desire to be exposed to your incessant imbecilic questions for any longer than I am being paid for."

They left, and caught up with Ron, who'd been lurking in the doorway listening in. Harry gave a theatrical shrug as they walked. "Let it be stated, for the record... I tried."

So much for attempting to tell his teachers about his concerns. And people wondered why he was in the habit of keeping things to himself.

"Harry, I think you may be right about this," Hermione said, hugging her books close to her stomach. "There was something seriously off in that classroom today."

"Maybe Snape sabotaged the results," Ron suggested. "He's probably planted some kind of evil, magic-sucking enchantment on the classroom so we all fail."

"Don't be absurd, Ron," she huffed disapprovingly.

"I don't think it was Snape, Ron," Harry added. "Did you see Neville earlier? He nearly blew my head off! Why would Snape sabotage everybody else and help Neville?"

"It wasn't _everybody_," Hermione said thoughtfully. "It was me, and you, and Malfoy, and Terry Boot-"

"Much as I hate to say this about any group that includes Malfoy," Ron interjected, "I think it was everybody who's usually really good at these kinds of spells."

"That doesn't make any sense," said Harry.

"I'll say." Ron shook his head slowly. "When Hermione can't cast a spell and Neville shows up Snape in front of everybody? Something's not right."

* * *

For the next few days they spent every spare hour in the library, hoping to discover something about the Curse of Durand. Hermione had been right - the lack of proper indexing made it a rotten job, and after hours and hours of fruitless searching, Harry threw down his copy of _Magical Malice and Mythical Menaces_ and rubbed his eyes. "Hermione, let's take a break," he pleaded. "We've been doing this for hours! If I read one more word about famous hexes I'm not going to have room in my head for any schoolwork!"

Hermione barely raised her nose from her book. "Just let me get to the end of this bookshelf," she said indistinctly. "That's the logical place to stop for a little while, and then we can come back this evening and do the next six shelves."

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, and then grabbed an elbow each and dragged her bodily out of the library.

"Let's go and see Hagrid," Ron decided.

They hadn't had much chance to visit the friendly Groundskeeper what with all the researching and other, actually legitimately academic pursuits. Although the NEWT years might entail fewer hours of lessons, they certainly made up for it with a ton more homework and extra studying to be done.

The weather was turning colder, and the three of them found Hagrid leaning on a long wooden pole as he examined the inhabitants of one of his pens with some concern. Harry peered down to see a number of creatures that resembled armoured mice trundling about in the smooth soil, drawing remarkably complex patterns together as if they knew what their fellows would be doing without even looking at them.

"Wow, what are these, Hagrid?" he wondered. They looked surprisingly non-dangerous for one of their old Care of Magical Creatures tutor's pet projects, although that could well be an illusion.

"They're Muscomens," said Hagrid, beaming proudly. "Had them imported, all the way from Brazil. Careful now yeh don' get too close, they'll give yeh a dose o' the psychic."

"A dose of the psychic?" Harry asked with a frown.

"That's right. They're telepathic, see, that's how they communicate with the rest o' the swarm. Got no ears, see."

"You can catch telepathy off them? Sounds wicked," said Ron, probably already plotting what he could get up to with the ability to read thoughts.

"It isn't Ron, it's absolutely frightful," Hermione said sternly. "People have gone mad after falling into a nest of Muscomens. Imagine being able to hear the thoughts of everyone around you all the time, and never being able to shut it off! You wouldn't know what thoughts were your own."

"No need ter worry, no need ter worry," Hagrid assured them hastily as both Harry and Ron stepped backwards. "This is only a small colony, yeh wouldn't get more than a tiny dose, an' it'd wear off in a couple o' minutes. But they could still give yeh a nasty headache, so mind yeh don't go agitatin' them."

They watched the creatures move about. Harry estimated that there were at least two dozen of them in there, which gave rise to some alarming thoughts about what must constitute a big enough colony to infect a person with telepathy forever. The little beasts were really rather cute, but the thought of stepping into a path of loose earth and falling down into a nest swarming with _thousands_ of the things...

"Why do they draw patterns like that, Hagrid?" he asked, to clear away that mental picture.

"Ah. The more o' them you get together, the more intelligent they are, see? A colony like this isn't too bright, o' course, but they can copy things they see jus' fine. Watch this." He reached over with the wooden pole he was holding, and sketched a few simple squares in the dirt. There was a pause, and then a solitary Muscomen happened to pass over the part of ground Hagrid had sketched on. Immediately, the rest of the swarm started to draw out the exact same pattern on a larger scale.

"Cool," said Ron.

"Can I try that?" Harry asked. Hagrid handed him the pole, which at a comfortable size for Hagrid to use was several inches taller than he was.

"Jus' scratch something in the dirt there - don' yeh go writin' anythin' rude, mind," he added sternly. Harry grinned. He hadn't intended to, although he had to admit the impulse had briefly been there. Instead, he positioned the end of the pole close to where the creatures were working, and drew his initials.

"Be careful, Harry!" Hagrid's warning had him instinctually jerking his hand away, but not before one of the Muscomen had brushed against the end of the pole.

He flinched, and then felt silly about it. Nothing seemed to have happened.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Hermione touched his arm. _He looks really pale._ Harry was about to snap something about talking about him as if he wasn't there when he realised he hadn't seen her move her lips.

_I've caught telepathy!_ he realised.

_Why isn't he saying anything?_

"I think I've caught a dose of telepathy," he said out, hastily. Obviously the link only went one way. The words echoed oddly as he spoke them, as if he was hearing them through more than one set of ears.

_At least - he - he - looks - wow - can - awful - I - still - wonder - wobbly - talk - what it's - there- like to have telepathic powers-_ Ron's, Hermione's and Hagrid's thoughts arrived in his head all at the same time, and he suddenly had a new appreciation for exactly why Muscomen infection could drive you insane.

"Best ter move away from everybody fer a while until it wears off," Hagrid counselled kindly.

As Hermione's voice in his mind started reeling off information that sounded suspiciously like a textbook entry on Muscomen infection, Harry nodded hastily and jogged away from the animal pens, towards the edge of the magical dome. It wasn't just the threat of a headache - he'd feel bad about overhearing anything he shouldn't. In fact, right now he could hear Ron's mental voice mumbling, _Don't think about- oh, God, he can hear you, don't even think about_ thinking _about- aagh! Quidditch Quidditch QuidditchQuidditchQuidditch-_

Grinning despite himself, Harry moved away until the words had faded to a point where he could only make them out if he really concentrated. He turned to give a wave and a thumbs-up, just to confirm he was all right.

Now he was right up close to the dome, and to his surprise he could even hear that, a kind of very faint hum like strong electricity. Did magic make psychic noise the same way more mechanical work made actual noise? He edged closer and closer, and then-

-Suddenly he could hear voices. If you could even call them that. They were more like raw, hungry emotions, burning through his brain, overriding anything so fragile and delicate as thought.

_...want... food... want... warm... foodwarmfood - want food - food - warm - want! - food want warmfoodfood - want want wantwantwantwantWANT-_

He passed out.


	8. The Hallowe'en Feast

Harry came to slowly in the hospital wing, still hearing voices. For a moment he thought he was still telepathic, and then realised that the owners of the voices were merely talking a little way away from him, probably assuming he was still asleep. He kept his eyes closed.

"-didn't think Muscomens would have nearly such a dramatic effect." That was McGonagall.

"Hagrid assures me that Mr. Potter's fainting fit is highly unusual." And, of course, there was even less chance of mistaking Dumbledore. "But then, it is likely that Harry is considerably more susceptible than most."

"Because of-"

"His link to Voldemort? Yes, partially. But also because of who he is. Bear in mind he is doubly connected to this - consider his parentage."

Harry was confused, and for a moment McGonagall seemed to be too. Then she said, "Ah. You're referring to what happened in the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Indeed. Of course, you know only Harry Potter could have done what he did."

"True. Well, you know, I always did think that James might-" She broke off, as people often did when discussing Harry's parents, as if even after this long the memory of their deaths still came as an unpleasant shock.

Harry's mind was racing. What did his father have to do with anything? He was doubly connected to what? Connected to _Voldemort_?

Tom Riddle was the heir of Slytherin. But what if Hermione's first theory had been right all along? He'd seen how closely intertwined the families of the wizarding world were from the family tree at Grimmauld Place. What if he _was_ a descendent of Salazar Slytherin? Voldemort might be the heir... but for all Harry knew, he could be the next in line. The Riddle name had come from the Muggle side of the family; who knew who Voldemort's long-dead mother had been, what bloodlines she was related to?

Could she even have been a Potter?

Perhaps some sign of this mental agitation showed on his face, for Dumbledore and McGonagall broke off their conversation.

"I do believe Mr. Potter is about to rejoin us," the Headmaster observed.

There was no point pretending to still be unconscious, so Harry blinked a few times, and sat up. "Professor..."

"You gave your young friends quite a scare there, Harry," Dumbledore said jovially.

Of course - Ron and Hermione. "Are they-?"

"They're waiting outside, Mr. Potter," McGonagall informed him. "Madam Pomfrey will want to check you over before you see them."

"I'm fine," he protested automatically. "It was the Muscomens, I just-"

"Nevertheless, Potter, Madam Pomfrey will check you over. You of all people should understand the importance of avoiding making assumptions."

Yes, he of all people. He squashed the flare of anger, and decided not to mention the voices he thought he'd heard before passing out. It hadn't been Voldemort - he knew what _that_ felt like well enough by now - but everyone would be bound to assume so, and then he'd never get out of the hospital wing. He'd been temporarily telepathic; he could have been picking up anything. The swarm of Muscomens, Thestrals in the Forbidden Forest, the giant squid - even squirrels! It would be daft to make an issue of something he'd heard on a telepathic frequency when he had no idea what you could _usually_ hear on it.

That might be so, but he still got prodded and poked by Madam Pomfrey, and ordered to stay in the infirmary overnight for observation. Ron and Hermione came to see him and make sure he was all right, as did Hagrid.

"Sorry about that, Harry," he said, shuffling his oversized feet.

"That's all right, Hagrid." He smiled to show he meant it. "You did warn me."

"Still. I should've know yeh'd be worse affected than most."

Harry forced the now rigid smile to stay in place, knowing Hagrid meant no harm. Nobody meant any harm, but that didn't mean their fussing over him was any less stifling. "I'm fine, really."

"The Muscomens went kinda wild when yeh passed out - I reckon they felt guilty or summat. Took a good while ter calm 'em down, after."

Harry wondered if they'd heard the voices, too. Perhaps they'd picked them up through him, considering him a temporary member of the swarm or something.

"Well, I'll be leavin' yeh to it," said Hagrid after a moment, giving Harry a careful pat on the head. Madam Pomfrey had been surreptitiously glaring at him - it wasn't that Hagrid was unwelcome, of course, but he had a way of filling all available space when people were trying to work. "You should come an' see the Muscomens when yeh feel better - they'll prob'ly be right glad ter see that yer all right."

"I will," he promised, and lay back in his bed.

He was actually quite tired, although he was sure it had more to do with the weight of the revelations suddenly thrust on him than any kind of ill effects from his brief foray into telepathy. So many mysteries... Why the magical barrier outside? What was the Curse of Durand? Who or what had attacked that Slytherin girl down in the dungeons? And what had Dumbledore meant when he'd said that Harry was 'doubly connected'?

He drifted into a restless, dreamless sleep.

* * *

Harry was woken later in the afternoon by somebody coming into the hospital wing. He recognised her as the girl who'd been attacked - Emma something? Aufstand, that was it. He wouldn't have known her if Hermione hadn't pointed her out to him when she first appeared at lunch after her convalescence. She was a shy little thing who seemed to spend all her time hiding behind a long fringe of wavy blonde-ish hair. Not like a Slytherin at all, really. If he hadn't known better, he would have placed her in a much lower year than Ginny's.

"Ah, Emmaline." Madam Pomfrey bustled about, either not realising or unconcerned that Harry could overhear the conversation. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, Madam Pomfrey," Aufstand mumbled to the floor.

"Are you sure, dear?" the kindly matron probed carefully. "Professor Snape says you haven't been doing very well in your classes since you came back, and he's concerned that his potion didn't work quite as well as he'd hoped."

"I'm just tired," she excused herself, while Harry attempted to digest that. Snape _was_ Head of house Slytherin, of course, but somehow it was hard to imagine him keeping a concerned eye on his charges or doing anything about poor marks except bawling the offender out for letting the house down.

"Hmm." Madam Pomfrey didn't sound like she believed that for a moment. "How about your memory?"

"I still don't remember anything after heading towards my Muggle Studies class that morning," she said meekly.

"Well, I can't find any evidence of a Memory Charm, and Professor Flitwick agrees with me. You may get your memory back in little pieces, or suddenly all together. As soon as you do remember anything, even if you don't think it's important, you should-"

"Go and see Professor Snape," she recited, as if this was a piece of advice she'd been given several times before. "Yes, I will."

"Good. Now, if you're sure you're feeling better-"

"I am."

"All right, then you run along back to class before you're late."

Harry sat up as the Slytherin girl left the room. "May _I_ go back to class now, Madam Pomfrey?"

"You stay right where you are, Mr. Potter," the matron told him sternly. "I recommended bed-rest, and bed-rest you will get."

He lay back down, defeated.

* * *

The days passed. As Hallowe'en approached, he and the other two had still not found any reference to the Curse of Durand.

"The trouble is, it could be _anything_!" Hermione groaned. "I mean, is it an _actual_ curse, or does it mean curse as in bane, or does it mean-?"

"Some bloke called Durand who swore a lot?" Ron suggested.

"But then it would be the _curses_ of Durand," Harry put in.

"Well, maybe he only swore once, but he said something really bad. Like that time at Christmas when Fred dropped that fake Bludger he was working on right on his foot. You should have seen mum hit the roof! Believe me, five hundred years from now, Weasleys will still be talking about the Curse of Fred."

"We don't even know for sure that Durand was a person," Hermione continued, apparently deciding Ron's tangent was best completely ignored. "Is it a first name or a last name? And was he cursed, or was he the one doing the cursing?"

"All right, Hermione, we get the picture." Harry raised his hands in surrender. "It's a tough job! But I don't know what else we can do."

"I reckon we should take a couple of days off," Ron advised. "Let's just forget all about this until after Hallowe'en. We'll never get anywhere if we read so much our brains switch off and we don't notice the answer when we find it."

Harry thought that was the most sensible suggestion anybody had come up with in two weeks of researching.

* * *

The Hallowe'en Feast was a rather nervous affair compared to previous years. Everybody was jumpy - the lack of owl post made it impossible to keep up with news from home, although Dumbledore had confirmed that he had his ways of getting the most important messages through. So all anybody knew about Voldemort's movements was that he hadn't attacked the family of anybody who attended the school - _yet_.

And today was, of course, a date of some significance to him. Harry had to fight to swallow his mouthful of Cauldron Cake, suddenly dry and tasteless in his mouth. He'd never really thought much of Hallowe'en being the anniversary of his parents' deaths before, but this year it seemed he could think of little else.

It was too easy, when you thought of parents, to picture people like Arthur and Molly Weasley, or Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Parents the right age for him as he was _now_. But of course, that was an illusion - he'd been just a baby, and they'd been _young_. Very young. Dead at only a handful of years older than he was now.

And what of their friends and schoolmates? Gone or ruined, most of them, the legacy of a war the same as the one his own generation were shortly to face up to. His parents, had they lived, would have still been in the primes of their lives even as Muggles, let alone when you considered the extended lifespans of wizarding folk. But they were dead, and so was Sirius, and Remus was aged before his time; Wormtail was a spineless traitor and a twitching wreck of a man after his existence as a rat; Snape was so warped and twisted and angry he had no trace of youth left in him at all... and how many other wizards of their age did he even know?

It gave him a start to consider that Snape was probably closer in age to his students than to any of his fellow teachers. Perhaps that was why the Defence Against the Dark Arts position had been so hard to fill even in the days before anyone knew how dangerous it could be. Who was left of the generation that should have been rising up to fill the ranks? Those too inept or too scared to have fought in the war... and those who had, and had been left forever scarred by it.

"Cheer up, Harry," Ron advised, nudging a plate of Pumpkin Pasties towards him. "No obsessing over the research, remember?"

Hermione gave them both a worried look, so Harry smiled weakly, not wanting to explain that it was not the Curse of Durand occupying his mind tonight. He picked at a pastry, having even less appetite than he could muster most days. If it hadn't been for the fact that everybody was watching him so bloody _closely_ to make sure he didn't crack, he would probably be back to being as skinny as he had during his childhood with the Dursleys.

He kept his fears and concerns on the inside, these days. Everybody else knew things were grim, they didn't need him rambling on about death and destruction all the time. Even if he hardly seemed to think of anything else. There was no part of his life to retreat to that hadn't been scarred by the terrible losses of the last few years. Every time he managed to snatch a brief moment of happiness he felt guilty for it afterwards, angry at himself for forgetting the grief that he hugged close to himself because it was all he had left of a godfather.

His grim musings were abruptly interrupted as the doors to the Great Hall were kicked open. It was Snape. Harry had noticed his absence, but thought little of it - it was hardly out of character for the Potions master to avoid social gatherings.

He was carrying what seemed a bundle of dark cloth; it wasn't until Harry caught a flash of Slytherin green and flesh too pallid to even be the Potions master's own that he realised what it was. A young boy, surely no more than twelve, stiff and unmoving in the teacher's arms.

Dead? No, surely not, for Snape would not have run so fast or brought him to the Great Hall. But perhaps greivously injured...

"Madam Pomfrey!" Snape's call was an imperious bark of command, not the more panicked gasp you'd expect from anyone who showed more human emotion. The matron was out of her seat and moving to join him immediately, clearly startled but already back in her professional capacity. Occasions like this when practically everybody was in the Great Hall were the only chance she got to let her hair down a little, but even then she was never fully off duty.

Several Slytherin students had risen to run over to their house master and fallen comrade; Snape gestured most of them back, but did snare one seventh-year girl and speak a few words close to her ear. She nodded soberly and ran over to the head table to pass his message on to Dumbledore.

The whole student population was on its feet now, and shocked whispers were rippling through the room. Padma Patil made it over from the Ravenclaw table to join her twin sister. "It's Neil Kirkpatrick!" she said breathlessly.

"Kirkpatrick?" Harry and Ron both looked to Hermione, who always knew these things.

"He's a second-year. Slytherin, again."

The 'again' reminded Harry of Emma Aufstand, and he looked for her in the crowd, but couldn't spot her amongst all the other bodies.

"He looks practically dead," Ron observed, his own face similarly pale. He might not be overly fond of Slytherins, but that certainly didn't extend to any pleasure at seeing one of them at death's door. Especially such a little kid... It was funny how young twelve started to look from the vantage point of sixteen.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Seamus Finnegan anxiously. No one could give him an answer. Madam Pomfrey had taken a quick look at the boy in Snape's arms and exchanged a few words with him, and now they were both leaving. Headed for the hospital wing, no doubt, and leaving a trail of unanswered questions behind them.

"Quiet - quiet, please." Dumbledore's voice was not raised or amplified, but it cut through the hubbub filling the Hall as cleanly as a knife. "Please return to your seats. Mr. Kirkpatrick's life is not in danger, thanks to the quick actions and quicker thinking of Professor Snape. Everybody, please sit down."

Gradually everyone did so, the agitated Slytherins last to obey. Harry couldn't help noticing that Dumbledore hadn't actually explained _what_ had happened to Kirkpatrick, only that he would survive it.

"I must remind you once again," the Headmaster said gravely, "that this is a dangerous time, and we must all be conscious of our own safety and that of those around us. Hogwarts is as secure as we can make it, but nonetheless, I ask you all to be careful, and look out for your fellows - regardless of house rivalries or other internal divisions. Obey the school rules, and do not wander deserted parts of the grounds or the castle unnecessarily; the best way for us to ensure we can look out for you is for us to be confident we know where you are at all times."

If this speech was supposed to be comforting, it was doing more to raise the tension than defuse it. Dumbledore, clearly recognising this, broke into a familiar twinkle-eyed smile; Harry coldly wondered if it was always as calculated an expression as it was now. "I am aware all this sounds needlessly grim - and no doubt it is. We do not expect there to be any danger, but it behoves us to be overly cautious in these troubled times, and pay attention to incidents like tonight's lest one of them turn out to be more than the unhappy accident it seems."

Harry noticed that he didn't actually come out and say that tonight's events _had_ been an accident. Had Dumbledore always spoken so carefully, chosen his words so artfully? Had he simply been oblivious to it before, wallowing as he was in a trust that was not as well placed as he believed it to be?

The Headmaster smiled. "We must be cautious... but not to the point of paranoia. I realise that the lack of news from outside the school has many of you on edge; this, again, is nothing more than a safety precaution, and one that we hope will need only be temporary. Rest assured that whatever happens, the owl post will be restored before the start of the Christmas holidays, and you will be able to resume contact with your families in time for the festive season."

That welcome news helped restore the mood a little, although the feast was even more subdued than before. Harry was just as relieved as his classmates, even if he had no relatives he cared to correspond with - he would at least be able to check on Remus and the extended Weasley family, and keep up with at least the publicly known side of Voldemort's activities from the _Daily Prophet_.

However, watching the faces at the head table, which looked nowhere near as cheered as the student population at Dumbledore's announcement, Harry couldn't help but feel a chill. Whatever the Headmaster claimed, it was clear that the current safety precautions were hardly the result of unnecessary caution.

There were far more ominous things at work here than a simple desire to keep Hogwarts well protected.


	9. The DA Meets Again

Harry was clearly not the only one who was well aware something was amiss. As the Hallowe'en feast broke up for the night, several members of the Defence Association he had formed the year before just happened to drift rather close to him and his knot of friends in Gryffindor.

"Harry, can you be at the Room of Requirement in twenty minutes?" murmured Terry Boot urgently.

"We're calling a meeting of the DA," Ginny Weasley explained quietly. "I think we all need to talk. There's something very strange going on here."

"We'll be there," he promised, though he wasn't sure how much he would or could say to everybody. They always expected him to be the one with the answers... but on the other hand, it was a relief to be reminded that he did have more allies out there than just his two closest friends.

"Harry, it's a bit late," Hermione said anxiously.

"Hermione, we're Prefects!" Ron reminded her. "It's _our_ job to make sure people go back to their beds! Who's going to notice if _we_ go missing?"

Hermione still seemed doubtful, but conceded the point. Actually closer to half an hour later, the DA reassembled for the first time since the beginning of term in the Room of Requirement. It had turned into a kind of lecture room with a semi-circle of seats, and Harry somehow found himself standing at the front. He couldn't help but notice that their numbers were sadly depleted; the departure of last year's seventh-years had taken a big chunk out of the group. A few others just hadn't come, although he wasn't sure whether it was because they hadn't got the message in time. He wasn't sure to be dismayed or just a tiny bit relieved by the fact that Cho Chang wasn't there.

"We've called this meeting because we all know there's something funny going on," Ginny Weasley announced. She was almost unrecognisable now as the terribly shy eleven-year-old who'd gone pink every time Harry so much as walked into the room. There were only two routes a girl could go down after growing up with six boisterous older brothers, and Ginny had ended up taking the one that gave her a strong dose of fearless self-confidence.

Harry nodded, and leaned on the conveniently provided podium. It was exactly the right height for him. He wondered absently how the Room of Requirement worked - did it shape itself from the subconscious thoughts of the first person to enter, or was it adjusted to take into account what all the different occupants wanted? Was the podium his size because it was what he, Harry Potter, had required, or because everybody in the room had naturally assumed he would be up there?

Oops, he was wool-gathering.

"I've noticed a couple of things myself," he said hastily, "but I'd like to see what everybody else has spotted before I put my thoughts out there." It was a technique he suspected he'd nicked from somebody, possibly Moody or Dumbledore, but he thought it was a good idea. Whether he liked it or not, his own thoughts were given more weight than other people's, so he didn't want some half-baked idea of his taken as gospel if somebody else was sitting on a better theory. "What have you noticed?"

There was a moment of long and rather awkward silence that made him feel for his teachers. Hannah Abbott cautiously raised a hand. "Something's not right with our magic."

"I've been messing up some really simple spells," said Terry Boot.

"I've been _hopeless_ at Divination," wailed Lavender Brown.

"Our Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons have been a complete joke," said Ginny. "Things keep going horribly wrong, and the teachers don't really know what they're doing - you sixth-years are lucky. At least you've got Snape."

"_At least?_" yelped Ron.

"We have to have half our Defence lessons with Professor Trelawney! She keeps telling us there's no defence against fate, and according to her, the best thing to do in the middle of a battle is stop and consult the omens to see what to do next!"

"Better Trelawney than _Snape_," Dean Thomas said with feeling.

"Probably not, actually," said Harry grimly. That got everybody's attention - especially an incredulous Ron's. "Ginny's right. Snape might be a total git, but he _does_ know his stuff, and we need to know ours. Which means we need to get to the bottom of what's wrong right now. We need to know why our magic is losing its potency."

Dennis Creevy waved a hand overenthusiastically. "Harry! I don't think it's just that people are losing their magic - it's all completely mixed up! The other day, in Charms, Kevin Whitby managed to shrink a whole table to the size of a matchbox!"

"It's not mixed up, it's reversed," said Neville Longbottom. They all looked at him. "Harry, remember how I knocked you off your feet with that Shuddering Hex? I've _never_ been any good at doing them before. And you and Malfoy both couldn't get it to work, even thought you're really good at duelling."

"So that means that those of us who are really good at things have been failing them," said Hermione slowly, "and those who are usually bad at things are suddenly boosted..."

"And anybody who's completely average wouldn't notice at all," said Ron. "Which explains me," he added, not particularly bitterly.

"But what's causing it?" wondered Padma Patil. "I mean, it doesn't make any sense. Even if it was... You-Know-Who-"

"Voldemort," Harry supplied. She only winced a little.

"-Why would he take some people's magic away when he's only boosting others'?"

"Maybe it's a side-effect and he can't stop it," suggested Ron.

"But who could he possibly do something like this, anyway?" Justin Finch-Fletchley demanded.

"I think it may have something to do with the Curse of Durand," said Harry.

There was a muffled gasp... and then a slight buzz of confusion.

"Er, Harry... what's the Curse of Durand?" asked Dean, after a moment.

"None of you have heard of it?" he asked, feeling a faint thread of hope die off. They all shook their heads.

"I've heard of the Curse of Duffleganger," Luna Lovegood volunteered. There was a brief pause.

"What was that, then?" Terry asked eventually.

"He was doomed to forever have gerbils pop out of his ears every time he sneezed. He was responsible for the Great Gerbil Plague of Hartlepool in 1927 when he caught a chill after falling in the sea."

"Er, I think that's probably not related," Harry said diplomatically.

"We don't know what it is either," Hermione took over. "We only know that some of the teachers mentioned it, and they seem to want to keep it a secret from us. There was some writing that appeared in the library before Professor Flitwick covered it up." She pulled out a piece of parchment from her inner pocket, and tapped it with her wand. "_Verbus Projectus!_"

Harry turned to see that the words of the poetic clue she'd taken down had appeared on the screen behind him. There was a brief pause as everybody read.

"Well... what does that mean?" demanded Michael Corner in frustration. Harry could only shrug.

"That's what we need to find out," said Hermione. "We need everybody to keep their eyes and ears open, and see if they can find out anything about who Durand was or what the curse means."

"What about the attacks?" said Colin Creevy in a hushed whisper.

Harry raised his hands, feeling strange having to be the voice of reason. "We don't know that what happened to that boy tonight was another attack."

"Snape would have said so, if it wasn't," objected Ernie Macmillan.

"Since when does Snape tell anybody anything?" said Dean.

"All we know for sure is that Emma Aufstand _was_ attacked, and Kirkpatrick might have been," Hermione said.

"Emma doesn't remember what happened to her," Harry added. "Or at least, she claims she doesn't."

"What could have attacked them, anyway?" Justin wondered. "We're completely sealed in."

"It could have been a Lithuanian Slime-Hound," Luna suggested helpfully. "They can ooze through walls."

"Perhaps something had already got in _before_ they put the barrier up," said Parvati, looking worried.

"If it has, it's probably down in the dungeons," said Ginny. "Kirkpatrick might have been down there too, as he's a Slytherin."

"Maybe we should look around," said Neville, not sounding as if he was very happy about this idea.

"With Snape on the loose?" demanded Ernie. "_I'm_ not sneaking around down there, he took five points off me last week for staying in the corridor too long!"

"We don't even know that there's anything down there to find," Harry reminded them. "But everybody keep an eye out. After all, we're only doing exactly what Dumbledore told us to do - being cautious, and watching for signs of trouble."

As the meeting broke up, Harry realised that he hadn't said anything about his doubts over the purpose of the dome, or those voices that he'd thought he'd heard under the influence of the Muscomens. But then, they should find out the truth about the former when Dumbledore lowered the barrier again at Christmas. And as for the latter...

Well, it surely wasn't anything important.

* * *

Neville was rather glum as the meeting broke up.

"I should have known," he said wearily. "I really thought I was getting the hang of some of those hexes. Now it turns out that it's just that the magic's gone topsy-turvy."

"Cheer up, Neville," Ron reassured him. "Remember last year? You did great. When it counted, you did great."

None of them had really talked much about events in the Department of Mysteries. Harry in particular didn't want to think too much about them, because if where they inevitably led.

_If I hadn't been so incredibly_ stupid-

Neville gave a rather unconvinced sigh. "Still, it's not me we should be worrying about," he said, putting the matter aside with his usual good nature.

"Neville's right," said Hermione seriously. "Harry, you're the one in danger from this. If Voldemort knows that your powers are weakened-"

"He's not even watching me!" Harry snapped, frustrated with the constant need to make everything that happened focused on him. "Seriously, Hermione, I haven't had a single nightmare, or felt anything from my scar, or- or anything!"

"Even so, you should be prepared," she said.

"How? If my magic is weakened, there's nothing I can do about it!"

"I've got this book," said Neville shyly. "It's called _Maximise Your Mastery of Magic_. My great-aunt bought it for me before I started at Hogwarts, when everybody thought I might be a Squib. It's all these little tips and tricks for making the most of magic even if you don't have a lot of it."

Harry's first instinct was to dismiss the idea outright - and then he felt like a complete git for it. Who was he to look down on ways people tried to make themselves better if they didn't have much natural talent? It wasn't as if most of the things he was good at came from hours of hard study like Hermione. If he was going to start sneering at the idea of not having the sheer dumb luck to be born with plenty of magical potential, he was no better than Malfoy.

"Thanks, Neville," he said instead. "I'll have a look at that. There might be something useful in it."

"Good," said Hermione, with a nod. Of course. The moment he agreed to look at a book, she considered the problem as good as solved.

He, Ron and Hermione ended up hanging behind to talk to some of the Ravenclaws, who had lots of questions about what books they'd already checked in the library. Harry was all but dead on his feet by the time they headed back towards Gryffindor Tower.

"We should probably get some sleep now," he was saying as Ron gave the password to the Fat Lady. "We can go back to the library tomor- oof." He'd just walked straight into Ron, who had suddenly come to a halt in the middle of the common room.

Hermione pushed past him irritably. "Really, Ron, what-" She too stopped dead.

"What?" demanded Harry, confused.

Ron extended a hand to point somewhat shakily at the wall over the fireplace. "Look!"

Harry looked - and saw that another one of the magical clues had melted out of the stonework.

> _To make one yield you almost seek  
> But first, must call for hush  
> In hours where the world seems bleak  
> Pass time in one quick rush _
> 
> _Beneath the castle's feather beds  
> A score of monsters dwell  
> Look on, without once counting heads  
> And rest your eyes a spell _
> 
> _A word you need, if you would go  
> Or so it might appear  
> The magic that all Muggles know  
> Will make the way seem clear _

"Oh, so _that's_ what it meant," said Hermione.

"What?"

"Nothing." She glanced around the room. "Quickly, we need to find some way to cover this up. If anyone else spots it, they'll report it! And Flitwick will probably vanish this one, too. We need a chance to study it and copy it down before we decide what to do about it."

"Quick - move one of the Gryffindor banners over it," Ron suggested. "We can come back tomorrow when everyone's in lessons to take another look."

"It's all right, keeping it hidden for a while, isn't it?" said Hermione, second guessing herself after charming one of the red and gold banners from the opposite wall to stick over the fireplace. "I mean, we _will_ report it eventually..."

Harry shrugged. "It's only temporary," he said, the excuse as much for his own benefit as hers. "We can tell the teachers about it later. And anyway, it's stupid of them to try and keep it from us. If it's a puzzle that needs to be solved, then we should all be trying to solve it." He remembered Flitwick's words to McGonagall from the first day of term. "It only makes sense; the more minds we have working on it, the better."

"Yeah, that's right, Harry," Ron said. He yawned. "We're not doing anything wrong - we're _helping_. Or we will be, anyway. Just as soon as we've had some sleep..."

The yawn was contagious. A few moments later, Hermione was stumbling off to the girls' dorm, and the two boys wearily ascended the stairs to their own. Puzzle solving could wait until they were actually fully conscious.

* * *

The next day, the school was abuzz, and it took Harry several sleep deprived minutes to remember that they were talking about Neil Kirkpatrick, and not their own late-night discovery. Rumours were flying wildly at breakfast, and Harry found several people giving him highly suspicious looks.

"Oh _please_," said Ginny Weasley loudly. "Harry was right here in the Hall with us last night, doesn't anybody remember?"

"_And_ he was in Potions class when Emma Aufstand got attacked," Hermione added.

Harry pushed his porridge around rather moodily, and could have told them not to bother. Since when did anybody use logic when it came to suspecting him of things?

"I reckon it was Professor Snape," Ron was telling a group of impressionable first-years. "They say he's a vampire - or a necromancer! He's doing horrible experiments down there, testing poisons on his own students."

"Ronald Weasley, you're a disgrace," said Hermione, glaring at him over the breakfast table.

Ron just snickered, and watched with glee as his eager listeners ran off to join their friends and start spreading this - admittedly, rather believable - theory.

None of them had a lesson first thing, but several other sixth- and seventh-years didn't either, and they had to wait a frustratingly long time for the common room to finally clear. Hermione scribbled down the poem one line at a time, nervous about holding the banner aside for too long in case anyone should come in.

They set the two poems side by side on the table, and studied them.

"Well, it's pretty obvious what the first one means now," said Hermione.

"Is it?" said Ron.

"Well, look! 'Four pieces do the puzzle make' - obviously, there are four things we need to find, or solve, or understand-"

"Yes, I got that much, thank you."

"So that _probably_ means four more clues like this one that's just appeared. And look at the second verse - 'open to all, but not to all'... well, this is the common room. It's open to everybody, but not to _everybody_ \- just the people in our house."

"'We call them homes, though none there dwell...'" Harry read. "Hogwarts houses!"

"Exactly," agreed Hermione.

"But then what was all that stuff about dead bodies?" Ron asked, frowning.

"'We call them homes, though none there dwell - but there does rest its head... a body that lives nine months well, and in the rest is dead'." Hermione recited. "It's a riddle! Not body as in corpse, body as in a group of people - us! We're at school for about nine months of the year, if you don't count staying for the holidays. And in the rest of it, _we're_ still all alive, obviously, but in a sense the _group_ is dead. So the four clues are going to appear where we live during the school year: in the common rooms of the four different houses. That's what it means by telling us we have to befriend our enemies - because we need the clues from all the houses, or we won't be able to solve the puzzle."

Ron thumped his head against the desk. "I _hate_ riddles," he said, with feeling.

Ignoring this, Hermione jumped to her feet. "Come on, everybody, let's get to the library! We've got to start working on this new clue."


	10. Gryffindor's Study

Over the next week, they spent more time in the library than Harry would have thought humanly possible, even for Hermione. What with still searching for information on Durand, trying to solve the clues and actual school work, Harry was beginning to see pages and pages of writing in his sleep.

"This last verse _has_ to be about a password," said Hermione, for about the hundredth time. "_A word you need, if you would go..._"

"But what about the stuff about Muggles knowing magic?" Ron demanded, also for about the hundredth time. Hermione blew up.

"Muggles _can't do magic_, Ron!"

"I KNOW! That's why they're Muggles!"

"Well then, why do you keep on repeating-?"

"All right, all right." Harry raised his hands. "I think we all need to calm-"

"I _am_ calm!"

"Hey, she's the one who-"

"Shh!" Madam Pince hissed sternly, shooting them a glare. Hermione leapt out of her seat as if she'd been shot.

"Oh my God, that's it!" she gasped, covering her mouth with a hand.

"_What_'s it?" demanded Ron, utterly lost.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter - kindly get _out_ of the library if you cannot contain yourselves."

They gathered their books and papers and ran out, an overexcited Hermione leading the way. "That's it!" she repeated, pulling them down a side corridor. "Don't you see! Shh! That's it!"

"Hermione's completely lost it," Ron said worriedly in an aside to Harry.

"No I haven't, I've _found_ it! Look, look!" She jabbed a finger at the rather dog-eared parchment with her copy of the clue from the Gryffindor common room. "'To make one yield you almost seek, but first must call for hush'! Shh! That's what you say when you're calling for hush! Almost yield, but shh first - it's a _shield_! That's what we're looking for!"

They both gaped at her.

"Well, come on!" she blurted impatiently. "_Hogwarts: A History_ has a whole _chapter_ on all the shields and tapestries and things that are hanging in the castle. Let's go and look it up!"

She shot off down the corridor. Harry and Ron exchanged glances.

"She's either a genius, or a complete and total nutter," said Ron, shaking his head.

* * *

_Hogwarts: A History_ provided no help in locating the particular shield they were after, and nor did _Magic Armour: Facts and Figures_, or _Wayland Smith and Other Magical Makers_. They stared at the rest of the poem until their eyes crossed.

"That's it," said Ron finally. "The only thing I'm going to be finding under the castle's beds tonight is that box of Fizzing Whizzbees Bill sent me. I'm going to sleep. Coming, Harry?"

"In a while," he said, snapping closed the book in front of him. "I'd better go and check on Hedwig first."

His poor owl was exceedingly grateful to see him. In fact, the entire Owlery was rather fractious, and despite Hedwig's jealous nips he went around and spoke to them all and gave out strokes and owl treats. They were specially bred magical messengers, and not at all used to being cooped up for weeks at a time with nothing to do. Harry glanced down at the floor to see a mess of feathers where several of the birds had been moulting - and then froze.

_Beneath the castle's feather beds_...

"The Owlery!" he exclaimed aloud.

Hedwig cocked her head to one side and eyed him disapprovingly, as if well aware that he'd just announced the name of the room he was in like a complete idiot.

"Sorry, Hedwig," Harry said, giving her one last hasty pat. "I've got to go - you've just given me a brilliant idea." He took the stairs down to the bottom of the tower two at a time, unfurling the parchment that he'd tucked inside of his robes.

He'd scribbled 'shield' next to the first two lines, so he ignored those and looked at the next bit of the verse. "_In hours where the world seems bleak, pass time in one quick rush_..."

It was coming up for midnight - surely that qualified as a bleak hour? But how to pass time... pass time... pass _time_! There was a clock on the wall not far away. And if he was supposed to pass it in one quick rush...

Feeling rather stupid, Harry ran along the corridor towards the clock, and took a flying leap as he passed it. There was a loud click as he hit the floor, and a section of the wall began to swing aside.

"Brilliant," he said softly to himself. He thought about going back for the others, but he wasn't sure there was time, and anyway, he wouldn't be able to get Hermione out of the girls' dorm.

It was pitch black beyond the secret door, and Harry lit his wand with a quick "_Lumos!_" He carefully descended a flight of narrow stairs, and then raised his wand and looked around.

The walls here were covered in mosaics of fantastic beasts. He recognised some from his Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons, but others were completely unknown to him. He followed the corridor for what seemed like quite a while, until it reached a dead end. He traced the other wall back until he reached the stairs again. No side turnings, in either direction.

He sat down on the bottom step, and took another look at the poem.

_Beneath the castle's feather beds, a score of monsters dwell; look on without once counting heads_...

A score. A score was twenty. Harry was sure he'd passed far more than twenty mosaics before he hit the dead end. So perhaps he had to count off twenty... but if he wasn't supposed to count heads...

What could he count, if not heads? Something else. Not heads. Heads or-

"Tails!"

Harry walked along the passageway again, this time observing the mosaics more closely. Not all of the creatures had tails. He counted out twenty that did, and found himself standing between a depiction of a rearing unicorn that looked rather more bloodthirsty than usual, and a rather sleepy lion. He stamped his feet a lot and pressed just about every part of the mosaic he could reach, but no further passages opened.

Back to the poem, then. He read aloud to himself, now; he was surely deep enough down in the bowels of the castle that no one could hear, and besides, it was rather dark and lonely down here.

"...without once counting heads, and... rest your eyes a spell." And then it got to the bit about passwords, and Muggle magic. Harry thought for a moment. Rest your eyes... That usually meant darkness, and he was using a light spell, so... "_Nox!_"

The light at the end of his wand went out. But the darkness, once his eyes adjusted, was not complete. A thin red line showed clearly against the wall, outlining the shape of a rectangular door around the lion figure. He pressed against it and prised at the edges, but nothing happened. Of course - he needed some kind of password. But what?

"Open?" he tried optimistically. "_Alohomora!_ Er... hello? Let me in? Friend?"

Nothing. Harry sighed. To get this far, and then be stuck on the very last part... He sat down on the floor, and thought hard.

Muggle magic. But Muggles didn't _know_ any magic! That was, as Ron had pointed out, exactly why they were called Muggles. So how could the password be 'the magic that all Muggles know'? They didn't know a single word of-

In the darkness, Harry's lips slowly curved upwards into a smile. _What's the magic word?_ he mouthed silently to himself. He stood up, and placed a hand against the lion mosaic. "Open... _please_," he said.

With a rumbling, grinding sound, the section of wall started to move back.

The red line that had outlined it blossomed into a bright, welcoming glow. Harry stepped, blinking, into a cosy little room with panelled walls. There was a battered but comfortable looking chair, and a giant dark wood desk with clawed feet. Logs burned merrily away in the stone fireplace, and above the mantlepiece was mounted a shield with a red and gold lion painted on.

Harry lifted it down, and stared at it thoughtfully. The lion turned to look at him, and he nearly dropped the shield as a head the size of his fist poked through the metal of the shield and nuzzled at him curiously.

"Hello," Harry said delightedly, lifting the miniature lion out of the shield as if it was a kitten. It sniffed at his school robe, and appeared to approve of it. Then it leapt down from his arms, and started to prowl around the room as if patrolling its territory.

And maybe it was. Harry looked around the room again, taking in the taloned feet of the desk and the thick, red and gold carpet beneath them. This had the look of a private study... and he had a hunch he knew who it belonged to.

"You belong to Godric Gryffindor, don't you?" he said aloud. The little lion paused in mid-stride and looked up at him, as if recognising its master's name.

Harry walked over and sat in the big chair behind the desk. It was wonderfully comfortable, despite the fact it seemed obviously designed for a true giant of a man, much broader and taller than he was.

He blinked in surprise as he looked at the desktop - and saw things that most definitely hadn't been there untouched for a thousand years. A pack of Exploding Snap cards held together by a rather elderly rubber band; scraps of paper covered with doodles and scribbles; empty sweet packets; a casually discarded card from a Chocolate Frog packet that looked like the old-fashioned ones Arthur Weasley had in a binder back at the Burrow. Old things - but twenty, thirty years old at most, not whole centuries.

He pulled the papers closer to him, wondering if they might hold a clue to the identities of those who'd discovered this well-hidden place years before him. Mostly they were just little nonsense sketches or jotted reminders, but he found them fascinating anyway. Then, on the corner of what seemed to be a draft of a piece of Potions homework, he saw it. '_Sirius loves -_' Numerous sets of initials had been added and subsequently crossed out, until a noticeably different hand had ended the sequence with '_himself!_' He rather thought he recognised it from the helpful little notes he'd read on returned Defence Against the Dark Arts essays in his third year.

Harry sat up straight, the pang of remembered grief almost muted by the thrill of discovery. Of course! Who better to have discovered this place than one of the school's most wide-roaming packs of Gryffindors? It wasn't marked on the Marauder's Map, but perhaps they'd found it afterwards - or considered it too secret to even entrust to that.

His father had probably sat in this very chair, years ago... Harry leaned back, luxuriating in the cosy warmth of the place. It felt - now, this was a strange thought - somehow reminiscent of his cupboard back in Privet Drive. Not that it had been a place of happy memories, but it had been _his_ \- somewhere to crawl into and huddle up, the only place in the house that he could truly count as his own.

It would be nice to have a bolthole of his own again, Harry thought tiredly. Just somewhere he could retreat to for a while, a place that belonged to him alone where not even well-meaning friends could follow him. A place where he could be just plain Harry, all alone, nobody's saviour and nobody's enemy.

He laid his head down on the desktop, and went to sleep.

* * *

When Harry awoke, the magical fire had burned down, and the study grown considerably colder. He sat up with a start, realising it must be very late.

The shield lay abandoned on the carpet, the lion returned to its original position. Harry thrust it somewhat awkwardly under his robes, knowing that if he was stopped in the corridors he didn't have the slightest hope of concealing it. And he hadn't brought his Invisibility Cloak - he would just have to pray no one was roaming the castle at this hour.

His luck was in, although at one point he had to avoid a muttering Filch patrolling the corridors. He gave the password to the Fat Lady, who seemed rather irritable at being disturbed in the small hours of the morning, and scrambled upstairs to his bed.

And then he had a problem. What was he going to _do_ with a full-sized metal shield? Tuck it under the bed and hope really hard no one noticed it?

"You're an awkward size, you know that?" he murmured to the lion, which was regarding him curiously, as if wondering why he was sitting around.

The shield immediately responded - by shrinking in his hands to something barely the size of a Prefect badge. He dropped it on the bedcovers in surprise.

"Whoa!"

Well, at least now it would be easier to hide. Wishing he'd known to shrink it _before_ he'd lugged it all the way across Hogwarts, Harry tucked it away in the folds of his Invisibility Cloak, and tried to get back to sleep.

* * *

He showed the shield to Ron and Hermione, but although they were both awed, neither of them could figure out what they were supposed to do with it. The lion would only emerge if Harry asked it to, but it seemed to like both of his friends well enough, and could be induced to butt fingers and even chase quills around and pounce on them like Crookshanks.

"How did you _find_ it, Harry?" Ron demanded, boggling.

Harry explained the part about working out the pieces of the clue, but he didn't mention anything about Gryffindor's Study. They probably both assumed, from the way he described it, that the shield had been in some kind of hidden compartment behind the secret door.

It wasn't that he _wanted_ to keep things from his friends... He just desperately wanted to be able to have this secret to himself, just for a little while.

"Well, that's one clue down, anyway," Ron said confidently. "Maybe we won't know what to do with it until we've collected everything."

Hermione had clearly been doing some more thinking. "We know that the next clues are likely to appear in the other three house common rooms, and if I'm right, I have a pretty good idea of when we'll see the next one."

"When?" Harry asked.

"Well, the one in our common room appeared on the first of November-"

"It was Hallowe'en," Ron objected.

"No it wasn't, Ron, it was after midnight, remember? We got back really late from that meeting after the Hallowe'en feast. I think the clue must have appeared exactly on the stroke of midnight."

"But what's significant about the first of November?" Harry puzzled. "I mean, Hallowe'en-"

"The first of November is Samhain, Harry," she informed him. "When we celebrate Hallowe'en, we're actually celebrating All Hallow's _Eve_ \- the day _before_ Samhain, which is the Festival of the Dead. But - more importantly than that - it's a station of the year."

"It's a what?" asked Ron.

Hermione looked miffed. "Honestly, did either of you ever pay _any_ attention to the assigned reading in Astronomy? And I'm surprised you didn't cover this in Divination as well."

"We might have done," Harry conceded.

"We wouldn't know. We were asleep," said Ron.

Hermione could never stay irritated for long if it meant the chance to impart information. "Traditionally, there are eight stations of the year. Samhain is actually the third - the one before it is the Autumnal Equinox, which is in late September, which is-"

"When the other clue appeared!" Harry realised.

"Exactly, Harry," she said knowledgeably. "The next station after Samhain is Yule. Then there's the Vernal Equinox, Beltane - that's another name for May Day - Midsummer, and the eighth and final station is Lammas. That's the day after your birthday, Harry, and sometimes it's actually celebrated as a two-day festival starting on the thirty-first of July. It's traditionally a time of completion, and the first of the three harvests of the year."

"I had a funny dream the night of my birthday," Harry only now began to remember.

"Was it - you know?" Ron made a gesture to his head that resembled the universal symbol for 'crazy' but was probably meant to indicate Harry's scar. He shook his head.

"No. But it had something to do with Hogwarts." He strained to recall the details. "I think Hagrid... Hagrid was trying to warn me about something. But I don't remember what."

"Well, that might be something to do with the Curse of Durand, and it might not," Hermione frowned. "If it came into effect on the night of your birthday, then there should have been three clues since then; this one, the one in the library-"

"And the one before that, which Flitwick covered up," Harry completed.

"So if we're right... the next clue's going to appear at Christmas?" said Ron.

"In one of the other houses' common rooms," Hermione agreed, nodding.

"We'll have to tell the rest of the DA to look out for it," Harry said, a little reluctantly. He was sure they could all be trusted, but the more people they got involved in this, the more risky it became.

Ron suddenly sat bolt upright. "Oh, God! What are we going to do if it's in Slytherin?"

"There must be _someone_ in Slytherin we can trust..." Hermione ventured uncertainly.

"Oh - who? Malfoy? Pansy Parkinson?" Ron made a disgusted noise. Hermione bit her lip.

"We'll just have to think of something. Maybe we can sneak in again somehow..."

"Not with Polyjuice Potion," Harry warned. "Snape's _still_ got it in for me over those supplies we took in the second year. If the same things go missing again, he'll be sneaking Veritaserum into my breakfast for sure."

"Well, something else then. We've got until Christmas to think about it, and if we're lucky, the clue for one of the other houses will appear instead."

"_If_ we're lucky," said Ron darkly.


	11. The Return of Owl Post

For the next few weeks, Harry concentrated on catching up with the schoolwork he'd been rather neglecting during their scramble to solve the clue. He kept the shield hidden away with his Invisibility Cloak, since he still had little idea about what it could do - the last thing he wanted was it suddenly popping back to full size inside his pocket because it had some kind of automatic threat detection enabled.

After tentatively trying a few mild and then stronger curses, they'd concluded that the shield absorbed magic in a similar way to a curse ball.

"But this is _much_ more complicated than that," Hermione explained. "It's based around an energy absorption web, which is one of the most intricate uses of Arithmancy. They're really difficult to do properly, because all the nodes have to be created simultaneously, or it just collapses in on itself. Once it's in place, it can't be lifted or magically altered in any way, so if it's done wrong, it can't be fixed, and the object might not even be possible to destroy."

Harry took a moment to try and comprehend that, gave it up as a bad job, and asked, "So what makes the shield more complicated than a curse ball?"

"Well, apart from anything else, just the shape of it makes it hard to create the web. A sphere is always the easiest shape to maintain, because you can link all the nodes together at the poles. Some of the really advance researchers have worked with cubes and other regular shapes, but I've never even _heard_ of anybody trying to create a web that wasn't fully symmetrical. But in addition to that, it obviously uses a much more complicated form of absorption web than the curse ball."

"Obviously," said Ron, rolling his eyes.

"Come on, Ron, you've _used_ a curse ball in class. What does it do with the energy it absorbs?"

"Spits it back out again?" he said, in the tone he usually reserved for answers in class that he knew were an extremely long shot.

"Exactly!" said Hermione. "All it does is _store_ the energy of the spell for a controlled amount of time, and then regurgitate it in exactly the same form. Whereas this shield - well, I don't know what it does. It has to break the energy down in some way, and either release it invisibly or use it to maintain the shield's integral enchantments."

"So it's a pretty impressive piece of kit, then?"

Hermione rolled her eyes in a long-suffering manner. "Yes, Ron. It's a pretty impressive piece of kit."

* * *

It was getting increasingly difficult to study in the Gryffindor common room. Tensions were rocketing with the Christmas holidays rapidly approaching, and still no evidence of Dumbledore coming through on his promise to take down the barrier. It seemed that the question on everybody's lips was always whether they'd be allowed to return home. Home, home, home, home, home.

It was driving Harry insane.

To make matters worse, Ron and Hermione were sniping at each other again. From what he could gather, Ron had been attempting to find out what Hermione wanted for Christmas in a less than subtle manner, Hermione had felt compelled to point out that they might not be able to get out to buy presents anyway, and Ron had taken affront at this and accused her of trying to convince him not to buy her anything because she thought he couldn't afford it.

Ron was getting steadily more insufferable, Hermione was getting more and more frustrated, and Harry was getting the headache to end all headaches.

Finally he sighed, and closed his Transfiguration text with a snap. There were going to be mock exams in January, and aside from Defence Against the Dark Arts, he wasn't at all confident about his performance. He could muddle through the practicals fairly well - except perhaps for Potions - but the written papers were sure to be a nightmare. The mocks would only cover what little of the syllabus they'd already gone over, but they would be his first taste of NEWT level questions, and he wasn't looking forward to it.

"I'm going to the library," he said, and was glad when nobody offered to join him.

However, halfway there, Harry changed his mind, and made a beeline for the Owlery stairs instead. He wasn't sure if early evening quite counted as a 'bleak hour', but he somehow felt that now Gryffindor's study 'recognised' him, it would be willing to let him in at any time of day. And anyway, there was no harm in trying.

Actually, he reflected midway through his flying leap, in a place like Hogwarts that probably wasn't true. Fortunately, the passage beside the clock opened for him just as it had before, and the study seemed just as welcoming as it had when he first found it. More welcoming, in fact, for as soon as he stepped over the threshold, the tension headache that had been bearing down on him seemed to melt away. He sank gratefully into the wonderfully comfy chair, feeling more relaxed than he had in weeks.

Harry honestly did mean to do his revision, and actually managed to read a chapter or two. But soon, the desire to explore and find out what other imprint his father and his friends might have left on the room grew overwhelming.

There were drawers in the desk that he hadn't looked at before, and he opened them now. The top one was empty, but the second contained a list of book titles that Harry suspected related to Animagi, a detailed description of how to make a potion that would give somebody neon pink bunny ears, and several parchments that looked suspiciously like early attempts at the Marauder's Map. He suspected these were papers that the four friends hadn't considered it safe to carry around the school. If they'd been as notorious as the Weasley twins, they'd no doubt been regularly stopped and ordered to turn their pockets out.

Grinning, he opened the third and final drawer. This contained slightly more interesting things than paperwork. There was a clever little game that looked like a Muggle sliding puzzle, but had pieces that would change, swap or invert themselves whenever you touched them, and sometimes if you were unwise enough to glance the other way for a few moments. There was a mirror that altered your reflection every time you shook it; Harry had a diverting few minutes seeing what he would look like bald, with a moustache, and with bright red hair that would have qualified him to join the Weasley family.

Most of the other things in the drawer were similar; little trinkets, toys that had belonged to boys now grown or dead and gone. The last thing, right at the back of the drawer, was a sealed up cardboard box. Curious, Harry reached in to retrieve it.

Inked across the top, in handwriting he suspected was his father's, were the words '_Confiscated from the Slytherins_'. Added in various other hands were several more remarks: '_for lack of respect towards House Gryffindor - and being slimy gits - not to mention smelling bad - and unacceptable levels of stupidity-_' The commentary went right the way down one side of the box and onto the bottom.

Seeing that box brought back in a sudden flash the memory of peering into the Pensieve, viewing his father as Snape had once seen him. An arrogant idiot, and a bully. Maybe whatever Slytherins he and the others had 'confiscated' things from had been every bit as bad as Malfoy... But maybe they hadn't. Would his father have seen any difference between the Slytherins who sneered and cursed and those who just wanted to be left alone? Would Sirius?

Would _he_?

Feeling of peace abruptly departed, he replaced the box unopened, gathered his things and left the room.

* * *

Dumbledore's announcement came after dinner, the week before they broke up for Christmas.

"I'm afraid I have mixed news for you all. The first, and doubtless most welcome announcement is that the magical barrier outside is being lowered even as we speak, and you will all be able to send and receive owls as normal henceforth." There was an almighty cheer that even the Slytherins joined. Harry glanced across at them, wondering how many were grateful just for the chance to contact their families again... and how many were preparing to renew ties with the Death Eaters.

"On a more unfortunate note," Dumbledore continued, "I am afraid that the school will remain sealed in all other respects, and none of you will be able to return home for Christmas or visit Hogsmeade." The cheer abruptly died into shocked groans and protests. "It is regrettable-" Dumbledore had to raise his voice to cover them - "it is regrettable that we have been unable to arrange otherwise, but for reasons of safety and security and various matters beyond our control, no one will be able to enter or leave the school grounds for the foreseeable future. Naturally, we appreciate that this will be difficult for everyone, particularly at Christmastime, which is why we have gone to great lengths to ensure the owl post be restored. Special arrangements have been made with Gringotts bank and the shops in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley to make sure that you will still be able to send and receive presents from within the castle, and owl-order catalogues will be available in the house common rooms shortly. Thank you, all, for your consideration and forbearance during this difficult time."

He sat down, but the silence lingered on for a while; everybody was rather stunned.

"Wow," said Ron finally, reaching for the gravy. "Looks like they really _are_ serious about security this year."

"Doesn't affect me," said Harry, trying not to sound bitter and perhaps not completely succeeding. "I wasn't going anywhere anyway."

"It's probably for the best," Hermione said hesitantly.

"At least we've got the owl post back."

Ron groaned. "Like that's supposed to be a _good_ thing? My mum's going to flip her lid. It'll be letters every half hour, you just watch. Are you wearing clean socks, Ron? Look out for your sister, Ron. Don't accidentally challenge You-Know-Who to a one-on-one duel, Ron," he mimicked in a screechy voice.

"Your mum doesn't sound like that at all, Ron," Hermione said sternly, while Harry hid a smirk.

"Not in front of you, she doesn't. She _likes_ you."

Harry and his friends, used to staying at Hogwarts over Christmas and well accustomed to being trapped by restrictive security measures, coped with Dumbledore's bombshell better than most. As they were leaving the Hall, Harry overheard Malfoy pontificating loudly to Crabbe and Goyle.

"I don't care what that old windbag says, no one can hold me here if I don't want to stay. _I_ can go home if I want to. I'd like to see them stop me."

He was heading out of the building, and by unspoken consent, the three of them drew their wands and followed. Harry noticed immediately that the eye-sucking dome was gone - it was a relief to look out and see ordinary sky once more, even dark and overcast as it was.

Malfoy was still ranting, apparently not caring if anyone over heard his brazen declaration that he was going to flout all regulations and just walk out. "Honestly, these people are such sheep. If the old man told them to-" He stopped dead, and Goyle walked right into him.

"I bet _that_ hurt," Ron murmured to Harry, smirking.

Harry wasn't listening. He'd just spotted the exact same thing that had stopped Malfoy in his tracks, out beyond Hagrid's hut.

The dome might be gone, but Hogwarts was still surrounded... by a veritable forest of thorns.

* * *

Harry pondered the wisdom of mentioning it in his letter to Remus. Was it a security precaution, or something else entirely? Would Remus already know about it? And if not, did that mean it would be dangerous to mention it in a letter?

Reluctantly, he decided he would probably have to be very careful what he wrote. He drafted the letter more than once, until he was fully satisfied with the tone of it.

> _Dear Remus, _
> 
> _Sorry for not writing any sooner (you probably know why). I am fine, and so are Ron and Hermione. I haven't had any of those headaches I used to get this year. I am doing really well in Defence Against the Dark Arts, even though Snape is covering our group's lessons. I wish you could have come back, they couldn't even find anyone to teach it this year. _
> 
> _I hope everything is all right your end. We haven't been able to get any news inside the school. Have you seen much of everyone since the summer? It's been really hard, not knowing what's happening outside. _
> 
> _I've been exploring the school a bit since we're cooped up in here (don't worry, I've been taking Ron and Hermione with me, I wouldn't wander round on my own). I found a study near the Owlery that's not on the map. Have you ever been in there? I thought it might be a good place to do my homework. _
> 
> _Harry. _

It was a bit short, but he had difficulty thinking what else to write. There was so much he wanted to mention, but it was almost impossible to get it across when he had to use a kind of code. He hoped Remus would understand what he meant by 'headaches', and pick up the way he'd made the 'm' on 'map' sort of halfway between lower case and a capital to try and show he was talking about the Marauder's Map without actually mentioning it by name.

Hedwig appeared extremely relieved to finally be given a letter to deliver, and for the next few days, there seemed to be owls everywhere as everyone tried to catch up with friends and family in the outside world. The Weasleys, Harry was relieved to hear, were all doing fine. It appeared that Percy was being welcomed somewhat gradually back into the fold; he sent Ron a rather stiff letter admonishing him to live up to his Prefect status, and not do anything foolish that might get him killed. Ron was all set to send him an extremely rude reply, but Hermione strong-armed him into writing a proper one.

Copies of the _Daily Prophet_ were eagerly passed around in an effort to catch up on months of missed news. Harry didn't expect the paper to know the full story about anything much, but certainly it seemed that the wizarding world was trundling on much the same as it ever had, albeit much more nervously. There had been tons of minor incidents where Death Eater involvement was 'suspected', but only three confirmed attacks in as many months, with two Aurors and a young witch who'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time the only dead.

Everyone knew that Voldemort was back, but what was he up to? This relative calm was even more nerve-wracking than the prospect of an all-out attack. At least if it was war, everybody would have some idea what to do; in some strange way, people would probably have felt safer if they _knew_ they were under threat than constantly wondering about whether they were actually in danger or not.

The reply to his letter to Remus took a rather long time to arrive, and Harry almost pitched forward into his soup with relief when Hedwig finally brought it to him over dinner on the last day of term. He retreated to the Gryffindor dorms to read it.

> _Dear Harry, _
> 
> _I apologise for taking so long to respond to your very welcome letter, but I have been engaged in business that makes it difficult to keep a regular address. I have spoken with many of the friends you made last year, and all is well with them. _
> 
> _Professor Dumbledore warned us in advance that the school would be incommunicado for a time, but it is still a great relief to hear from you and know that you are well. I hope your friends are not too disappointed at being forced to remain at Hogwarts over the holiday season, but I can assure you that the Headmaster has plans to make the festive season a joyous occasion nonetheless. _
> 
> _I'm glad to hear you're continuing to do well in your Defence Against the Dark Arts studies, although having taught you myself for a year it certainly comes as no surprise. I hope that you are finding the rest of your NEWT subjects similarly easy going; considering the many good reasons you had to be distracted last year, your OWL results were quite remarkable. _
> 
> _If I believed for one moment you would heed me, I would advise you to avoid travelling too far from the more populated areas of the castle in your explorations. Instead, all I ask is that you continue to be sensible and make sure that Ron or Hermione is always with you and that your other friends know where you are. _
> 
> _As it happens, I remember the study that you describe, and somehow I find myself unsurprised that you should stumble on it. It was a favourite place of your father's in our later years at Hogwarts, and I think you will find it similarly hospitable. I agree that it would be a quite excellent place for you to pursue your studies, as I am sure you would be safer there than in almost any other part of the castle. Nonetheless, you should still take a friend when you go, and make sure that people know to look for you there, should there be an emergency. _
> 
> _Please be careful, Harry, and remember I am always here to talk to should you need me. _
> 
> _Your friend,  
> Remus Lupin. _

Harry felt perhaps a little guilty for blithely assuring Lupin that he was being careful and not wandering the castle on his own. But after all, it was _broadly_ true - he never went far, and Ron and Hermione would soon notice his absence if anything went wrong. And he needed _some_ time to himself, or else he would simply just go crazy. If Remus believed, as he himself did, that the study was somewhere that he would be protected, then he would spend his solitary hours there. It was just beneath the Owlery, after all - hardly out of the way.

Still, somehow he didn't want to go back just yet. The thought of that box in the bottom drawer was like a little itch at the back of his brain, preventing him from being truly comfortable. A nagging reminder that three of the men he considered his greatest heroes were far from completely flawless. He couldn't keep trusting only his own judgement - after all, look how many things he'd allowed to come to pass thanks to his own stubborn stupidity. Difficult as it was, he knew he had to make himself share his discoveries and suspicions with other people.

If he didn't, who knew how many more people he might get killed?

* * *

The DA met again on the first day of the Christmas holidays. Harry displayed the shield briefly, to general awe.

"We found the shield by following the clue in our common room, but we still don't know what it does," Hermione explained. "From what we know, we think there was probably one more rhyme that appeared before the one in the library. We don't know where it is, and it's likely to be hidden under an illusion, but we need to find it somehow, as it may tell us more about what we need to do with whatever we find from following the other clues."

Ernie Macmillan raised a hand. "If Professor Flitwick covered it up with an illusion, what chance can we possibly have of finding it? I mean, he wouldn't use any charm you could just clear with _Finite Incantatem_."

"I've been doing some research," Hermione began, and Ron and Harry both hid knowing smiles. "Seeing through illusions was very important during the Goblin uprising in Ireland in 1723, when a group of wizards tried to use Leprechaun gold to-" Ron gave a not-so-subtle cough. "Anyway, there's been a lot of research into charms that will work to dispel illusions even if the caster isn't sure what kind has been used, and here's one that I think should work on almost anything."

She drew her wand. "_Imago_ chair!" There seemed to be, abruptly, one more chair in the front row of seats than there ought to be. Ron waved a hand through it experimentally.

"Neat. Hey, Hermione, how come you never did this to Malfoy's chair in Potions before now?"

Hermione ignored him. "Obviously, this is a very basic kind of copying illusion - Professor Flitwick's is likely to be tactile as well, and probably impervious to most simple magical scans. But this particular incantation ought to be enough to remove it. _Exhibero Veritas!_"

The chair illusion conspicuously failed to disappear, and Hermione paled considerably, but nobody jeered.

"Do it again, Hermione," Ron said reassuringly. "We all know everybody's magic's a bit messed up."

She swallowed, and raised her wand again. "_Exhibero Veritas!_" This time, to everyone's great relief, the chair disappeared.

Harry took charge again. "We'll all practise that charm in a minute. The main thing, though, is that everybody has to be on the lookout for these clues. We expect another one to appear at Christmas, and it's probably going to be in one of the other house common rooms, so everybody here who's not in house Gryffindor should keep an eye out."

"What happens if it's in Slytherin?" Ginny was quick to spot the flaw.

"We're working on that," he semi-lied. "Right. Any other questions?"

Dean Thomas raised a hand. "Yes. Why are we living in a giant hedge?"

There were a few nervous giggles, and Harry smiled. "I'm as confused as you are, believe me. Any theories? Hermione?"

She shrugged slightly. "I don't know. It's not any spell I've ever read about, but it can only have been magically grown."

Harry nodded slowly. "I think it was already there, or partially there, the day we arrived. Remember how the teachers made us walk along a really specific path to enter the school?"

"And my Fluctuating Flaxweed went mad," said Neville. "I thought there was something wrong with it, but it must have been reacting to all those invisible hedges."

"The woodlice have been curling anti-clockwise," Luna said knowledgeably. "That's always a sign that they've been eating magical plants."

Padma Patil put her hand up. "Maybe the reason they put the dome up was to hide the hedges until the entrance hole sealed up again?"

"That sounds quite likely," Harry admitted. Hermione looked faintly peeved not to have come up with this suggestion herself. "If that's true, then I suppose we have to assume that it's there as a new line of defence. I mean, otherwise, why would they want to stop us from going in and out?"

"Maybe it's dangerous," said Ernie Macmillan nervously.

"I think it's creepy. It's like being in the overgrown castle in Sleeping Beauty," said Dean. That got him a few funny looks. "It's a Muggle children's story," he elaborated.

"Yes, but who's going to get a prick?" murmured Hermione. Ron's eyebrows shot up in alarm.

"_What?_"

Harry nudged him hastily. "I'll explain later."

The session dissolved soon after that, with nobody able to come up with any more theories or suggestions, and they spent the rest of the afternoon practising creating and shattering simple illusions.

* * *

Harry was reminded sharply by his efforts in front of the DA that his use of magic was currently, at best, rather erratic. He knew it was time to take a look at the book Neville had lent him.

He'd had it for weeks, but it had remained tucked safely away with his Invisibility Cloak and the Gryffindor shield. The lurid purple letters on the front screamed _Maximise Your Mastery of Magic_ in a size that he could have read from across the room without his glasses. What was worse, every page seemed to have a bright, bold, cheerful message on it somewhere, assuring him that with time and effort he could overcome his 'difficulties'.

The book might indeed have held some useful advice for handling recalcitrant magical abilities, but he would have died of embarrassment before he got caught reading it.

And only last year, that might have been that. The book would have stayed hidden away until he finally handed it back to Neville with an awkward fib about having skimmed through it and found nothing helpful. But after the disastrous failure with his Occlumency lessons, he knew only too well that the price of rejecting help through his own stubborn pride or pig-headedness was too high to pay.

It had been easy, so easy, to blame it all on Snape, terminating the lessons before he'd even had a chance... But when his frustrated anger had finally flattened and sharpened into grief, he'd known he was at least as much to blame, if not more. Snape might have made only the most token of efforts to educate him, but he'd casually rejected even that - so convinced that he knew better, so convinced that he should follow what _he_ believed and ignore every warning he'd been given.

Harry took another peek at the alarmingly bright book cover, and sighed. If he could handle Snape trying to read his mind, he could certainly handle reading a wizarding self-help book.

Just... not where anyone might see him do it.

It was growing late, but he slipped out of Gryffindor Tower anyway, intending to sneak down to the study again. He hadn't wanted to go back since he'd discovered the box in the bottom drawer, but it was the only place he could think of where he could have complete privacy.

He padded quietly through the school without the cover of his Invisibility Cloak, confident that he could get away with claiming to be heading to the Owlery if questioned. It _was_ Christmas, after all - anyone but Snape would let him off. As it happened, though, he needn't have worried, for the corridors were quiet and empty.

Until he heard somebody scream.


	12. Christmas at Hogwarts

Harry started running before he'd even had time to think. It was all very well for Remus and Hermione to warn him about keeping away from trouble, but he knew for sure that he was better able to defend himself than almost anyone here but the teachers. What was he supposed to do, leave other people to get killed just to make sure he didn't get a scratch?

Wand drawn, he burst through into the next corridor, and found himself faced with the source of the commotion.

At first he thought it was a Dementor, but then he realised that what he'd taken for ragged robes were in fact horrible tattered, leathery wings. The creature was like a skeletal pterodactyl, its ragged skin the grey of dirty water. It had a wide, gaping mouth, but it was toothless, and where eyes ought to have been there were only hollows in the skin.

A wide eyed girl was cowering behind a statue. Harry vaguely recognised her as a second year Ravenclaw. She shrieked as the creature's claws swiped uncomfortably close to her; for all that he couldn't see any sensory organs at all, it seemed to have no difficulty tracking her.

Harry had no clue what the thing might be, so he followed his first impulse and cast a Patronus. They drove off other things than Dementors, sometimes, and it might at least attract the creature's attention. "_Expecto Patronum!_"

To his dismay, all that came out of his wand was the formless silver smoke that was all he'd been able to summon when he first learned the charm. It drifted painfully slowly towards the winged beast... and then disappeared as abruptly as if it had been sucked away by a vacuum.

However, as a non-consolation, he _had_ succeeded in attracting its attention.

The creature wheeled around and spread its wings, opening that toothless maw in a screech that made no sound but seemed to make his brain ache. Harry sought desperately for another spell. "_Adhaereosum! Restringeo!_ Er... _Maxum Horrero!_" Nothing was working. He wasn't sure the spells were even being cast at all. He scrambled backwards hastily as it swooped towards him.

A defensive charm, a defensive charm... Why was it all of a sudden he could only think of ones that reflected curses?

"_Caecus Murus!_"

By all rights, the creature should have been stopped in its tracks as it thumped into an invisible wall... but if the wall was even there, it passed straight thought it without slowing. Harry backed away, met a stairway he hadn't been expecting, and tripped, crashing into somebody coming up it behind him.

"What d'you think you're playing at, boy?" It was Filch. He raised his lantern, and blanched. "What have you been doing up here?"

"It's got nothing to do with me!" he retorted indignantly.

Filch stepped towards the beast, swinging the lantern threateningly, and - incredibly - it retreated.

"It must be frightened of the light!" Harry said. Filch swung the lantern towards it again, and it reared back, giving another of those soundless screeches. Harry wondered if it was ultrasonic - Filch didn't seem to register the same pain that shot through his own head, so perhaps his hearing wasn't good enough.

As he scrambled to his feet, the creature pulled its wings in and escaped through a high arched window, taking off into the night. Harry ran to the window, but not fast enough to see where it had gone.

The Ravenclaw emerged from her hiding place and cautiously came towards them. "What was that?" she asked, still shaking slightly.

"An excellent question," said a very familiar voice from behind them. Harry turned slowly to face Professor Snape. "Mr. Potter, would you care to explain yourself?"

It was the girl who stepped in. "Please, Professor, he was just trying to help me. I was just coming back from the library when that... thing... appeared out of nowhere and attacked me."

The Potions master sneered. "I see. Heroically charged to the rescue again, did you, Potter?" Only Snape could make that sound like a crime.

Harry coloured, and looked at the floor. "No, sir," he admitted, embarrassed. "None of my spells worked against it. It flew away when Mr. Filch came up the stairs with the lantern."

Filch looked marginally surprised to be given credit for anything; Snape's expression didn't twitch. "Quite. Perhaps next time, it will occur to you to think with your brain instead of your ego. What's this?" Snape was bending down to pick up something from the steps. Harry realised with a sick flash of horror that he must have dropped Neville's book when he skidded down the stairs.

"Er- Professor, I was just taking that back to-"

"_Maximise Your Mastery of Magic_." Snape didn't smirk, but Harry could _feel_ the expression radiating out from him. "An excellent idea, Mr. Potter. Might I suggest you read up on defensive spells, since you are clearly so woefully inadequate at casting them. Twenty points from Gryffindor for thoughtlessly endangering the safety of others in the course of showing off. Now return to your dorm, and try to refrain from any further displays of heroism along the way."

Harry accepted the book stiffly and stomped off in the direction of Gryffindor Tower, fuming.

* * *

"What do you think it was?" Ron asked, leaning forward. The three of them had retreated to the library to talk; there were only a couple of days until Christmas, and it was all but completely deserted.

Harry shook his head and shrugged. "I've never seen anything like it. I'd swear it was blind, and it didn't have any ears that I could see, but... it knew we were there."

"Strange that the light would scare it off, then," Hermione murmured. She was already on her third book of magical beasts since he'd given his description.

"Yeah, that is weird," mused Ron. "D'you think it could sense the heat?"

"Maybe," Harry agreed. "Maybe it wasn't the light at all - it could have just been Filch arriving. I don't think it considered me or that girl much of a threat, but perhaps with three against one..." A thought occurred to him. "Or, hey - we were both trying to use magic. Filch actually physically attacked it."

"Because he's a Squib," Ron filled in.

"So... what if it's immune to magic?"

They both looked at Hermione, whose frown was just visible over the weighty tome she was flipping through. "Natural magic resistance? It's possible - there are some creatures that have a powerful resistance to most spells, but they're usually larger, like dragons."

"This was more than that, though," Harry insisted. "It wasn't just that the spells didn't do anything, it was almost like I couldn't cast them at all. I barely managed the Patronus, and it disappeared as soon as it got near the thing."

Hermione closed her book, looking pensive. "Was it definitely reptilian?"

"Sort of," he hedged. "I mean, I didn't get a clear look, but it didn't have feathers or fur or anything. It just had this disgusting saggy grey skin."

"Like Snape," said Ron. "And it tried to kill you - also like Snape. And then he appeared behind you right after it flew out of the window. Coincidence?"

Hermione bounced a screwed up ball of paper off his head. "Sorry, Harry, I can't find anything that even sounds like what you saw," she admitted. "I've been looking at winged serpents, but none of them match up to the other stuff you told me. We'll just have to keep looking."

"Oh, joy," said Ron. "More research. Is this any way to spend the Christmas holidays?"

"This is how we _always_ spend our Christmas holidays," Harry pointed out.

"I wonder if it's related to the Curse of Durand," Hermione pondered. "I mean, if magic is behaving strangely, and there are suddenly magic-immune creatures hanging around..."

"It must have been the same kind of creature that attacked those two Slytherins down in the dungeons," Harry said. Neither of the two had shown any signs of external injuries that he'd seen, but he remembered how that ultrasonic screech had made his head throb.

"D'you think that shield would have protected you?" Ron wondered.

Harry shrugged. "It's not as if I could have carried it around, anyway. Fat lot of good it would have done me if Snape had come along and confiscated it."

"I still say Snape's got something to do with this," Ron grumbled.

"Yes, but you always say that, and you're always wrong," Hermione reminded him. "It's been five years - why do you keep suspecting him of everything when he's never ever guilty?"

"Because he's a complete git!"

"You can be nasty and still be a good person, Ron." She considered. "Or at least, a not actively evil person."

"He took five points off me last week for getting out of my chair - because my robes were on fire! That's not actively evil?"

"It's quite reassuring, really," Harry said, and was met with twin incredulous stares. "It's one of the constants of the universe. The _Daily Prophet_ can't decide whether I'm a hero, mad, or evil, everybody else seems to change their mind about me every five minutes... but Snape will always hate me."

Just then, a breathless Hannah Abbott ran into the library and made straight for their table.

"Harry! You were right!" She held out a rather battered scrap of paper. "Another one of those poems appeared in our common room last night. Laura Madley saw it this morning, but she reported it to me and I managed to convince her it was nothing important. I covered it up with one of those illusion spells like you showed us."

Hermione smacked her forehead. "Of _course_! Yule is the winter solstice, not Christmas Day - we should have been ready for it to appear yesterday."

"Was yesterday the winter solstice?" Ron asked cluelessly.

"Aren't you taking a NEWT in Astronomy?" Harry asked him.

"Yeah, but not by choice!"

Hannah spread out the abused parchment on the library desk. "I copied it down, but it's all Gobbledegook to me. You should look at this, Hermione, you're the one who's good with word puzzles."

Harry leaned over her shoulder to read it at the same time she did.

> _Hard work will end what plot begins  
> And dig the secret out  
> Walk from the home of golden wins  
> But not quite in a shout _
> 
> _The three of nines is where it ends  
> Of sinister beware  
> Look for the tree that never bends  
> And does not show the air _
> 
> _Observe the line to find your goal  
> Its ending you must know  
> Then press upon a noble soul  
> To show you where to go _

"Well, that bit's obvious."

Everybody turned and stared at Ron.

"The 'home of golden wins'. That's the trophy room, right?" He spoke as if he'd expected everybody else in the room to have worked this out ahead of him.

"Brilliant, Ron!" Hermione squeezed his arm, causing him to go distinctly pink.

"But how can you walk in a shout?" Harry wondered.

"Well, we don't have to, do we?" Ron pointed out.

"Maybe it just means quietly," Hermione said, seeming rather unconvinced by her own reasoning.

"Well, come on! We can go up there and try to figure it out." They all leapt to their feet... and then remembered Hannah's presence. "Er, you can come too, if you like," Harry offered uncertainly.

"No, that's all right." Harry couldn't tell if she was reluctant to waste her Christmas holiday trying to solve frustrating riddles, or just uncomfortable intruding. "I'd better get going."

As it turned out, she was probably wise to refuse, because they reached the trophy room only to be baffled about what to do next. They wandered the area aimlessly for some time, trying various combinations of shuffled footsteps, tiptoeing, flying leaps... Finally McGonagall turned up, and chased them out.

"Really, you've all been _told_ about wandering the castle unnecessarily. I know you're all suffering from cabin fever, but you really must stay where the staff or your housemates can keep an eye on you. And that goes doubly for you, Mr. Potter."

Grumbling slightly, but perhaps more than a little relieved to be given an excuse to give up for a while, they returned to Gryffindor Tower.

"Well, that was a waste of time," sighed Ron.

"It was a good idea, Ron," Hermione assured him. "I'm sure the trophy room must be the starting point - now we just need to figure out what to do when we get there."

* * *

There was little more figuring out done in the next few days, however, because Christmas took precedence even over solving mysteries and trying to find out about strange monsters. After all, Harry had to deal with tons of those in the average year, but he only got one Christmas. After all his years with the Dursleys, he'd never quite grown out of the seasonal glee that his classmates all wanted to pretend they were too mature for.

However, the pretence was quickly shattered when a dismayed Ron shook him awake on Christmas morning. "No presents!" he said, in tones of horror.

Harry fumbled for his glasses and looked around. Most of the others were awake already, and milling around looking rather confused. Normally there would have been owls carrying parcels swooping in all over the place by now.

"Did the dome go back up?" Harry asked worriedly. He'd spent plenty of Christmases himself without a single present, but he knew his friends' relatives would never forget them.

"No, and the owls are here - I'd swear I saw Pig flying towards the Great Hall, but he wouldn't come to me when I called him."

"Does he ever?" wondered Harry. He scrambled out of bed. "Come on. Let's go and see what's going on."

The mystery was soon solved when they reached the Great Hall. The four house tables were gone - and in their places were four enormous Christmas trees, each surrounded by a huge pile of presents. Only the Slytherin tree was actually green; the one for their own house was bright red and hung with golden baubles, to match their house colours. The entire room was filled with snow, and it was falling gently from the enchanted ceiling; when Harry reached down to scoop up an experimental handful, it had the texture of ordinary snow, but it was only cool instead of freezing, and it didn't melt away into water.

"Welcome, welcome!" Dumbledore beamed benevolently at them all, seeming the very spirit of Father Christmas in a bright red robe with a fluffy hood that he must have acquired specially for the occasion. "Pull up a log! Help yourself to a snowflake!" Curious, Harry caught one out of the air, and found that the falling 'flakes' weren't snow at all, but tiny hexagons of white chocolate.

Teams of house elves were making the rounds on little sleighs, loaded with food and drink and more presents. "Harry Potter is having a wonderful Christmas at Hogwarts!" Dobby called from one of them; he was festooned with brightly coloured socks for the occasion, while all of the other house-elves seemed to be wearing sparkly red and green drapes.

"Yes, Harry Potter is," Harry agreed, smiling.

Tiny reindeer the size of cats were running around through the snow, locking antlers and wrestling with each other. An animated snowman in the middle of the Hall was throwing snowballs; whenever anybody caught one, the snow melted away to reveal packets of sweets or small magical toys. There were ice fountains everywhere, each one dispensing a different kind of drink. Harry had a suspicion, judging by the slightly lopsided smile that Professor Sprout was already wearing even this early in the morning, that the little one at the teachers' table was probably alcoholic.

"Harry! Ron!" Hermione appeared in the doorway and beamed at them both. "Isn't this wonderful?" Ron immediately threw a snowball at her, but she only laughed and ducked. "Come on! Let's go and open our presents!"

Rooting through a huge pile of literally hundreds of gifts, trying to find your own and passing the others out whenever you spotted someone who was standing nearby, seemed to Harry to be the absolute best way to get Christmas presents. Even the Slytherins looked happy for a change, eagerly digging through the snow beside their own tree. He wished the whole school could have had a Christmas like this at Hogwarts every year.

"Here's one of yours, Harry!" Hermione levitated a soft, squishy package towards him. It was another Weasley jumper, this one with a Golden Snitch on the front. Either Ron had reported back how much he'd grown or Mrs. Weasley had predicted it, for it was actually a little too long for him. He pulled it on over his robes anyway, ignoring the snickering from Draco Malfoy's direction. Nothing was going to bring him down today.

That held true even when Ginny unearthed another present of his that turned out to be from Remus. It was a simple but beautiful wooden photo frame, in which a very familiar big black dog barked and chased around a Quaffle and shamelessly played up to the camera. A small note, tucked into the back, read: _Tell him what you'd tell to the map_. Harry, checking carefully that no one was watching too closely, tapped the picture with his wand and whispered "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." Immediately, the dog transformed into a grinning Sirius, looking little older than Harry himself, who waved madly at him.

It was heart-breaking to look at... and it was the best Christmas present he could have asked for. Harry tapped the corner of the frame, and murmured "Mischief managed." The beaming boy in the picture frame transformed back into Snuffles, and immediately ran back to where he'd left off, worrying at the Quaffle. Harry tucked the picture frame into his robes, close to his heart.

"Come on, Harry! You're missing all the fun!" He turned around to find that Ron and Dean had somehow managed to alter the flow of one of the fountains, and were using it like a water cannon to shoot Butterbeer at a squealing Ginny. Neville and Justin Finch-Fletchley were duelling with trick wands that they'd got out of the flying snowballs, which caused the person you aimed it at to turn a variety of unnatural colours.

Smiling, Harry forgot all of his worries for a while, and ran to join his friends.


	13. The Window of Opportunity

"Children, children!" It was almost lunchtime when Dumbledore called for their attention again, and the smell of turkey dinners hung tantalisingly in the air. "Everybody, please gather around."

Harry realised that a strange, tall mirror like a sheet of flat glass had been set up in the middle of the Hall. At least, it looked like a mirror, but it didn't reflect - he could see right through it to the grinning teachers on the other side. Clearly they knew something about it that he didn't.

"I know that, as wonderful as this day has been, you are all missing your families and wishing you could be with them."

_Not me,_ thought Harry.

"Alas, it pains me to say that this cannot be... but, nonetheless, no Christmas is truly Christmas without the gathering of family and distant friends. And that is why Professors Flitwick and McGonagall, and indeed I myself, have been labouring this past month to create for you, for one day only, a Window of Opportunity."

There was a gasp of delighted realisation from Hermione, though most of the Hall remained befuddled.

Dumbledore smiled, and gestured to a particularly confused looking Ravenclaw. "Mr. Ackerley - if you'd like to step forward, and look into the Window?"

Ackerley looked around at his friends for moral support, then cautious made his way through the thick snow towards the Window. When he was a few feet away, the image abruptly flickered and changed - to show a wizarding couple sitting on a brightly coloured sofa, both wearing party hats and looking rather anxious. They immediately lit up, and started waving. "Stewart! Stewart! Oh, sweetheart, we've been dying to see you..." they greeted their son delightedly.

"Wicked," said Ron, awed. Hermione was staring up at the gently chuckling Dumbledore.

"The number of _connections_ they must have made," she gasped. "I've heard of these, but I've never heard of _anybody_ using one to link to more than a dozen locations at the same time."

"He's Dumbledore," smirked Ron. "What d'you expect?"

Harry, with no desire to contact the Dursleys even if it was possible, was content to sit back and watch all his friends in their happiness, although he was dragged forward by Ron and Ginny when the Weasleys got their turn, and again to wave briefly at Hermione's mum and dad. He found that he didn't even feel any ache for what he was missing. It was enough just to see all his friends look so pleased, and to be able to sit back and be ignored by everyone for once.

As one of the few outside of the scrum to get a look into the Window, Harry was the first to spot a team of owls working together to carry in an enormous wrapped package. He smiled, wondering what else Dumbledore had planned for today.

And then he saw Snape stiffen, and reach for his wand...

Harry leapt to his feet as the package hit the fake snow and exploded. For a moment he thought that it literally had and the darkness spreading out from it was smoke - and then he realised that the black wave was in fact a huge mass of shiny-shelled insects, each almost the size of his fist.

There were screams of panic as people began to notice the invasion. The insects had wings, and wasted no time in latching on to people and rip and tear at their skin.

Harry raised his wand and sent up a spray of sparks, a signal that they'd practised with the DA. "Everybody! Come to me!" While the rest of the students were milling around helplessly or still trying to see what the commotion was, the DA gathered around Harry, wands at the ready.

"Use _Exsolvere!_" Hermione called to everybody. "Get them away from people before you cast any hexes on them!"

Hermione's choice of charm worked remarkably well at getting the biting bugs to loosen their hold on their victims, but figuring out what to do with them afterwards was more of a struggle. If you just charmed them away, they flew right back, or turned around and found another victim. A Scatter Hex would disperse a group of them, but that only created worse problems, as students, house elves and enchanted mini-reindeer ran through the fake snow in a collective panic.

"How can we kill them?" Ron demanded urgently.

"Just try everything you can think of until you find something that works!" Harry suggested, hitting one of the bugs with a Stupefying Charm. It fell out of the air, but seemed to be stunned for only a matter of seconds before it was flying again.

"_Accendio!_" Somebody - Ginny, he thought - crisped several of the bugs with a fire spell, but the flames spluttered out harmlessly as they hit the snow. Hermione and Ron were working as a team, Hermione yanking the bugs off people as Ron kept throwing different hexes in the hope that one would be more effective than the ones he'd tried so far. Dean appeared to have taken a more prosaic route and was stomping on the bugs whenever one landed near him, wearing a look of utter distaste.

Harry crushed a group of the bugs with an _Incudis_ charm, but he couldn't cast that one where there were people. He struggled to remember more suitable hexes.

"Ow!" He yelped as one of bugs took a vicious bite out of his calf. He instinctively knocked it away with a hand before he remembered to use Hermione's releasing charm, tearing at his own flesh. "_Frangere!_" He grimaced as the bug exploded.

"_Inclamare!_" Ron yelled from beside him.

His spell deflected off the shell of the target bug and hit one of the Christmas tree baubles, which immediately began yelling insults about his performance.

"Bugger!" he added.

"_Silencio!_" Hermione gave him a look, and then pointed her wand at a bug. "_Inflamare!_" It burst into flames.

"Yeah. Er, that one," Ron said rather sheepishly.

Harry looked around and saw that, amazingly, they seemed to be making an impact on the swarming bugs. The success rate of spells was still erratic, but the bugs were small enough that even a weakened hex could knock them around if it was aimed well enough. The staff were at the other end of the Hall, dispatching still more of the creatures, but his own little group seemed to be just as successful in their efforts to repulse them.

What they needed was a really effective charm... Wait a minute. He called to mind the accidental combination of syllables that he'd used to create his over-powered Sweeping Charm. "_Verrio Mundia!_" This time, with a little more control than before, he swept up bugs and snow alike, but left the people standing. If he could only get all the bugs into one area... "Hermione, Ron! _Verrio Mundia!_"

They saw what he was doing and added their own spells to the effort. More members of the DA gathered round, using the Sweeping Charms they'd learned or trying to copy his more effective one.

"Point me!" That was Hermione, and for a moment he was baffled, wondering what use the Four-Point Spell could be right now. He saw her take note of the direction of north, then spin towards him, wand raised. "_Potens Favonius!_" All of a sudden there seemed to be a blizzard in the Hall as a powerful wind scooped up the invasion force of bugs and threw them towards the far wall.

"Nice one, Hermione!" Ron beamed.

With all the bugs quickly confined, it didn't take long to blast, toast or crush them all into submission. Harry sighed, and wiped sweat from his brow.

He became aware that quite a fair proportion of the student body was looking to him for their next orders. "Er... well, I think that's all of them. Um, nice work everybody."

"Indeed." Harry jumped as he realised McGonagall had come up behind him. She was looking at him slightly oddly, as if unsure whether to commend him or be appalled that half the school had turned to him instead of the teachers for their orders. He cringed slightly in embarrassment, and allowed her to take charge.

"Right." McGonagall's voice rang out over the Hall. "Everybody, please organize yourselves. If you are uninjured, return in an orderly manner to the house common rooms. Prefects, stay behind and help sort out the minor injuries from the more serious cases. Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape will be on hand to tend the wounded - please be patient, and appreciate that there may be others more in need of immediate attention."

The Hall gradually began to empty out, Christmas cheer quite effectively dampened. Harry rubbed his bitten leg.

"Potter." He looked up into Snape's unimpressed sneer. The Potions master was holding a jar of salve as if the idea of applying it was vaguely offensive. "You're injured?"

"It's not serious," he said, and would have insisted so if his leg was only held on by a single flap of skin. "Save it for somebody worse off than me."

"An excellent idea." Snape stalked off without a word of acknowledgement for this mature self-sacrifice or the fact that he'd led the effort to fight off the bug invasion. Harry scowled at him, and headed back to Gryffindor Tower.

Eventually they were allowed to return to the Great Hall, and everything looked just as it had in the morning, but the Christmas spirit had well and truly fled. Everybody sat around rather grimly through the evening meal, and nobody was quite so excited about their presents any more. Harry went to bed early.

With the distractions of the day no longer present, he soon lived to regret rejecting Snape's help with the bite on his leg. The wound was only small but it stung like crazy, and itched in a way that was impossible to ignore. There was no way he was going to get to sleep like this.

Although not everyone had yet gone to bed, he tugged on his Invisibility Cloak anyway, preferring to move through the halls incognito. Neville and Ginny were playing a subdued game of Exploding Snap in the common room as he passed; he timed his exit to match an explosion to avoid alerting them.

Harry limped through the corridors, not really heading anywhere, and found himself at the base of the Owlery tower almost by accident. Despite his throbbing leg, he nearly started to ascend, but then told himself not to be so stupid. Gryffindor's study was all he could have asked for in a safe, solitary retreat - was he really going to stay away from it just because of a chance reminder of things he wasn't comfortable thinking about?

The fire was there to greet him when he opened the secret door, toasty warm after the frigid air of the passageway. Harry slipped out of the Invisibility Cloak, and sat down in the big chair. Doing so made him feel suddenly close to the long-ago Godric Gryffindor, and he closed his eyes and just sat for a while.

"I know they weren't perfect," he said softly, into the welcoming silence. "But you chose them for your house. They weren't perfect... but they were _good_. At heart, they were all good men." He swallowed hard against an unwelcome thought, but knew it was right to include it. "Maybe... maybe even Peter, for a while." It was easier to think it if you let Peter the boyhood friend and Wormtail the traitor be different people inside your head.

Nothing changed, but somehow he could believe there was something approving in the tenor of the silence. Harry opened the bottom drawer, and took out the box that had so disturbed him before.

'_Confiscated from the Slytherins_'. Which Slytherins? Maybe spitting, howling, hateful creatures like Malfoy. Or maybe just ordinary kids, victims of a group of Gryffindors too hung up on their personal image of the house to realise that they were the real bullies.

_I know they weren't perfect. That doesn't mean I can't still love them anyway._

He popped open the box.

In the end, it turned out to be rather anticlimactic. Harry wasn't sure whether he felt like laughing or crying over the simple assortment of childhood clutter he'd been worrying over for weeks. More old Chocolate Frog cards. A chipped, solitary Gobstone. A bent quill that might or might not be enchanted. Several little gadgets that had doubtless been purchased in Zonko's.

And there, down in the bottom of the box...

He lifted out the little silver snake in wonder. It was clearly shivering, and for a moment he thought nonsensically that it might be a real live one. It felt like metal in his hand, however, and coiled far too neatly in his palm for even the tidiest of living creatures.

"You really don't belong here, do you?" he murmured softly. It was such an unmistakably _Slytherin_ thing. It was probably ridiculous to believe it could have any feelings, but still Harry was convinced that being stashed away for years in a place so patently dedicated to Godric Gryffindor was surely miserable to it.

It didn't sound like he was speaking Parseltongue to him, though of course he never had been able to tell. The snake seemed to be conscious of the fact that he was speaking to it, raising its little silver head in response, but he couldn't tell if it understood.

"What are you?" he wondered aloud. "Can you show me what you do?"

In response, the snake suddenly wriggled across his palm, up towards his fingers. It wrapped itself tightly around the base of one finger - and abruptly transformed into a plain, featureless silver ring.

Harry laughed aloud in delight. He tugged experimentally at the silver band, but it wouldn't move past his knuckle. "Will you come off if I ask you to?" he queried, and the ring transformed back into a snake and lifted its head, apparently in assent.

He took the snake with him, in ring form, when he left the study. He wouldn't have felt right about leaving it there, and besides, it felt almost like the study had given him a gift in response to his earlier words. After all, the Sorting Hat had remained convinced that he could have been just as much a Slytherin as a Gryffindor. And though he knew full well he would have been horribly miserable in that house, perhaps it was time he acknowledged that it would have been down to the company he'd have been keeping, not the qualities of the house itself.

That was what he needed to remember - the line that made all the difference between refusing to tolerate Malfoy and his ilk, and an irrational prejudice that was just as bad as their own. Slytherin was a house full of rotten apples... but not a rotten house.

"I'll keep you with me," he whispered to the little snake when he was back up in the dorm, with everybody else long since asleep. "You can be a reminder."

His father had been a good man, and whatever his mistakes, he'd apparently eventually learned from them.

Maybe it was time Harry learned from them too.

* * *

Ron could not have been relied upon to notice if Harry had suddenly started sporting a purple Mohican, but Hermione spotted the ring almost as soon as they met the next day.

"Where did you get that from, Harry?"

"Get what?" Ron wondered, around a mouthful of Fizzing Whizzbee that was still trying to fly away.

"That ring." Harry held up his hand somewhat guiltily.

"I- it was a Christmas present." Not so much a lie as a drastic shortening of a story that would really be too complicated - and a little too personal - to tell.

Hermione frowned and looked ready to press for more details, but Ron jumped in before her. "Not another one of Mad-Eye Moody's protective charms? Harry, if you don't stop him soon, he's going to be sending you enchanted underpants!"

Harry was rather too distracted by that thought to deny this plausible suggestion and think up a different story. "I don't even want to know what they would do," he mused.

"You should see what Fred and George have been inventing - did I show you their last letter? They've been marketing Portpants - they're like a short-distance Portkey that triggers as soon as you put them on, so you get transported out in front of your house in your underwear."

"Well, really." Hermione looked so overtly scandalised that Harry suspected she was trying very hard not to let a faint flicker of amusement show.

"They sent me a box of their new Honey Bees for Christmas," Ron continued. "They're really cool, they fly around and if they sting you they vanish and reappear right in your mouth."

"That's _dangerous_, Ron, somebody could choke to death," she pointed out. "And what if they have an allergy or a medical reason not to eat honey? One of these days your brothers are going to seriously hurt someone. And they're not schoolboys now. They'll get taken to court!"

An argument swiftly developed, during which Hermione accused the twins - and by extension Ron - of having no sense of consequences, and Ron accused Hermione of having no sense of humour. Harry attempted to stay well out of it. At least it had the useful effect of putting off any more awkward questions about the ring.

* * *

The ring was not uncomfortable to wear, and he got into the habit of keeping it on, mostly because he didn't want anybody to see and remark over its transformation back into a snake. He'd quite forgotten he was wearing it by the time the start of the spring term rolled around, and Snape's sharp eyes spotted it in a Potions lesson.

"Potter. Pray tell us all why you seem to think yourself above the school rules on jewellery in lessons?"

Harry glanced across to the Slytherin side of the room, where Pansy Parkinson was quite obviously wearing earrings, and Blaise Zabini a signet ring considerably more ostentatious than his own simple silver band.

"It's enchanted, sir, I can't take it off."

Snape's eyes glittered cruelly. "Indeed? Enchanted to what purpose, Mr. Potter?"

Harry opened his mouth... and closed it again. With a sudden sick lurch in his stomach it occurred to him that a ring his father had taken off a Slytherin years ago could be enchanted to do just about _anything_. What if there was the ability to cast some dangerous curse secretly embedded in the thing?

Fortunately, Snape would have had no inclination to take his word for it anyway. He drew his wand, and pointed it at the ring. "_Patefacere Actio!_"

A cloud of whitish smoke surrounded the ring, but vanished into nothingness. "Your magic jewellery seems to be defective, Mr. Potter." Titters from the Slytherin gallery.

Hermione leaned over towards Harry's table as Snape stalked away. "Actually, that spell only reveals active hexes," she murmured, "so all it proves is that the ring can't be used to cast spells directly, but there could still be a protective charm embedded if it's a-"

"Five points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for attempting to lecture your woefully inadequate housemates on material they should have picked up in other classes." Snape turned back and smiled nastily. "And ten from Mr. Potter, for ignoring the rules about placing Non-Removable Charms on inappropriate items of jewellery."

Harry wouldn't have known how to cast one if he tried, and wasn't sure the rule against it even existed, but he wasn't stupid enough to speak up about it.

"Now, since you have clearly developed a desire to look pretty in class-" nasty snickers from the Slytherin side of the room, and a few smothered giggles elsewhere - "perhaps you would be kind enough to test Mr. Nott's Hair-Growth Solution? I have no doubt Miss Granger will be happy to show you how to braid it after class... assuming she has any experience with keeping hair under control."

Harry glowered to himself, and eyed Nott's potion warily. It was pale green - Hermione's was milky purple, and every other attempt in the class, including his own, was at least approaching that shade. No doubt Snape had deliberately scanned the classroom for the mixture that looked most likely to do him damage. He supposed he should be grateful Neville wasn't taking the class any more.

Amazingly, Nott's potion did actually work - after a fashion. His hair _did_ grow. Everywhere. He ended up with a mass of dark tangles down to his waist, a beard that rivalled Dumbledore's, and a rather alarming all-over coating of inch thick dark fuzz.

"I hope you can fix this," he mumbled to Hermione as Snape sent him back to his seat with no more comment than a raised eyebrow.

"If all else fails, I can teach you a good charm for shaving your legs," she muttered back. Harry found that thought somewhat less than reassuring.

"Hey, Potter," Malfoy smirked at him as they left class. "Love that half-giant oaf of a groundskeeper so much you want to emulate his fashion sense? Probably an idea, it's a step up from yours."

"Oh, and you'd know all about what the well-dressed Death Eater is wearing this season, wouldn't you? Tell me, did you get a tattoo to match your dad's yet? What _is_ the current fashion in Azkaban these days?"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Watch your back, Potter," he said warningly. "My father won't be in prison for long." He stalked off.

Harry watched him go, and wondered whether that was just empty Malfoy posturing, or Draco knew something the rest of them didn't.


	14. The Enemy Within

The first few weeks of term were rather exhausting. Hermione went into predictable pre-exam overdrive, even though the teachers reiterated that this first early round of NEWT mocks was simply to test how much they already knew and get them used to the types of questions to expect. Harry made the mistake of taking them at their word and made rather a hash of Transfiguration, but he rallied around to do decently in Charms, extremely well in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and hopefully avoid failing miserably in Potions. At least he had less subjects to juggle now, even if the workload was getting larger and the questions harder.

Fortunately, with only such a small amount of the syllabus yet covered, the practical tests were easier to prepare for. Whatever had been interfering with everybody's spellcasting was still in effect, and while the everyday charms and spells that he'd never had much flair for were generally still working for him, he was struggling mightily in Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons. It almost gave him some sympathetic insight into why Hermione got so het up over a few dropped points in exams - to wobble even a little at something you _knew_ you ought to be brilliant at was maddening.

With the mocks and subsequent increase in homework assignments that greeted the less than stellar general performance, it was hard to find time for anything non-academic, and what little they had was usually spent frustratedly going over the rhyme from the Hufflepuff common room. The trouble with the poetic clues was that you appeared to need to solve the beginning before the rest began to make any sense, and beyond the assumption that they were supposed to start at the trophy room, they were simply just plain stuck.

Harry frequently found himself keyed up and unable to sleep. He'd been having horrible dreams ever since Christmas; not Voldemort-induced, just nasty, tense, mashed-together nightmares in which he was always seeing horrible disasters take place thanks to his inability to remember things or work out solutions.

Facing up to yet another night of sweaty, tangled insomnia, Harry decided to turn to an activity that always left him exhausted when he was living with the Dursleys: doing his homework in bed. There it was a necessity; his aunt and uncle would have flown into a towering rage if they'd caught him doing anything that related to the wizarding world. Now, it might just serve the twin purposes of tiring him out enough to sleep, and making a dent in his intimidating workload.

He groped for the Transfiguration text he recalled having dropped under the bed at some point, reluctant to disturb his roommates by waving a lit wand outside the drapes. The first book he grabbed was completely the wrong size, the second turned out to be the comic he'd bought when he was out with Remus... he found a third, and closed the drapes to light his wand and examine it.

It turned out to be _Maximise Your Mastery of Magic_. Harry grimaced at the sparkly cover, and was about to toss it back when it occurred to him that now was as good a time to take a look at it as ever.

Neville would surely not have recommended the book if the concentration and focusing exercises it suggested were not of some use. The trouble was that they were buried in pages and pages of inspiring messages and stories apparently designed to build the reader's confidence. As opposed to making the reader gag at the trite, saccharine sweetness of it all.

Harry grimaced as he flicked past pages of 'Inspiring Tales'. Well, at least this was threatening to make him nod off. _The Squib and the Unicorn. Damien's Duel. Malcolm and the Merpeople. The Tale of Durand and Bertram-_

Harry stopped, and carefully flicked back a few pages. Yes, he _had_ read that title right. Suddenly wider awake than ever, he started to read.

> _Bertram and Durand Adroganter were brothers, from an old and well established family. While Bertram excelled at everything he put his hand to, his younger brother struggled mightily to perform the simplest of spells. They grew apart as they grew older, as Bertram made a success of himself as a teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and found his brother's failure more and more embarrassing. _
> 
> _The boys' mother, on her death bed, sought to end their feud by making Bertram give an oath to look out for his younger brother. Bertram still wanted nothing to do with his less talented sibling, but was reluctant to break his word to his mother. He went to the Headmaster of Hogwarts and asked that Durand be given a job as the school caretaker, a task that even a lowly Squib could do. _
> 
> _For thirty years, the brothers worked side by side, but barely exchanged a single word. Bertram grew more and more famous and successful, while Durand scrubbed floors and cleaned windows, without even the simplest of charms to assist him. _
> 
> _But while Bertram's easy success had made him lazy, Durand had been accustomed all his life to working hard. Every single day for those three decades, he would go to the Hogwarts library, and read, and learn, and practise what he had learned. And finally, on the day that Bertram was appointed Headmaster of Hogwarts, he unveiled his masterpiece. _
> 
> _For thirty years, Durand had been working on but a single enchantment - a spell that would envelop the entire school, and transport it to another world. He created it as a challenge to his brother; an enchantment that could not be broken with strong magic, but only by careful thought, and hard work, and cooperation with others. _
> 
> _Bertram was a proud and arrogant man, but he truly loved all his pupils and his school, and he rose to the challenge as best he could. He learned once more to think for himself, and to work hard, and to reach out to those he had once considered beneath him. But all his efforts were in vain, and as the allotted time drew to an end, Bertram had not managed to fully solve the puzzle. _
> 
> _All would have been lost... but Durand, who loved his brother and saw how he had changed, took pity upon him, and lifted the enchantment. Bertram swore that he would never again underestimate those who worked hard for their successes instead of taking them for granted, and from that day forth, the brothers ran the school side by side. _

Harry contemplated the story with a pensive frown. Clearly, moralistic fairytale though the story seemed, it had some kind of basic in fact. There had been a real Durand, he truly had created an enchantment that covered the whole castle - and somebody had discovered it, and recreated it.

Another world... He felt a sudden chill. He had thought that the illusion they'd been led through after arriving on the Hogwarts Express had been simply covering a hole in the mysterious hedge maze - but what if it was something more than that? The hedges must have been still growing while the teachers kept the dome up. Which begged the question of what, exactly, they might have seen outside if it had been lowered any earlier...

His first instinct was to rush off to find Hermione, but of course it was the middle of the night, and he could hardly go charging into the girls' dorms. He considered shaking Ron awake, but he knew it wouldn't be fair. The news would keep until he could speak to both together in the morning, and he would only be passing on his own insomnia.

Despite his churning thoughts, he did, eventually, manage to fall asleep.

When he did, he dreamed of Sirius, dressed in Professor Snape's forbidding robes and giving a lecture. '_The Curse of Durand_' was chalked in bold letters at the top of the board, but everything else on it was gibberish, as unreadable as Hermione's Arithmancy homework.

"Come on, Harry, you're the only one left," his godfather said sternly. "How are you going to get your NEWT in Heroically Charging to the Rescue if you don't keep up with the coursework? You were supposed to set aside five minutes to read the questions over carefully before you started the exam. Every decision you make in the next two years will count towards your final grade."

Harry tossed and turned, and whimpered in his sleep.

* * *

He explained what he'd found out to Ron and Hermione in Charms the next day. "Someone must have found the old spell, and set it off to seal us all inside - for good, this time."

"They'd have to be crazy," said Ron, with a frown. "If we can't break the spell, they'll be trapped in here forever too!"

"Voldemort's never had trouble recruiting crazy people before," Harry said darkly.

"He has to have somebody on the inside," Hermione said. "Not Snape," she added with a sharp look, before Ron had got past framing the 'Sn'. "For a _start_, Ron, he's on our side, and anyway, they'd want somebody like Barty Crouch - somebody so fanatical about the cause that they won't even care if they never escape their own trap."

"Take your pick of the Slytherins, then," said Ron. Harry frowned.

"I don't know, actually. I mean, take Malfoy - he might be right alongside Voldemort when it comes to all the stuff he's preaching, but he wouldn't take part if it meant he'd chip a nail. There's no way Draco Malfoy's sacrificing his life for the cause."

"What about Crabbe and Goyle, then?" Ron wondered. "Their dads are Death Eaters too."

"Too dumb."

"Even if somebody managed to find a full description of exactly what Durand did to enchant the castle, you'd have to be able to replicate the whole thing without the slightest mistake to pull it off," Hermione agreed.

Ron grunted. "Not Crabbe and Goyle, then. They can't even tie their shoelaces best out of three."

Harry considered. "What about that Ferus bloke in the fifth year? He seems like a nasty enough piece of work."

"He's not exactly friendly with Malfoy," Hermione pointed out. "I think Malfoy thinks he's a threat to his authority."

"What authority?" Harry wondered with a snort.

"Well, remember what Crouch was like when he was pretending to be Mad-Eye Moody," Ron put in. "He really hated all the Death Eaters who weren't quite as fanatical as he was. Maybe Ferus doesn't like Malfoy because he's a selfish little tit who cares more about his own skin than anything else."

"There's no point guessing about it," Hermione said sensibly. "The important thing is to make sure that we solve all the clues as fast as possible, before the Death Eaters' agent on the inside can beat us to it. Harry, you need to tell us everything you remember about the place where you found the shield. It might give us a clue to what we're looking for with the other three items."

"Well..." he hesitated guiltily, and then was extremely grateful to see Flitwick coming across the classroom towards them. "I'll tell you after class."

* * *

Charms ended much too soon for his comfort, and they clustered together in a deserted corner of the library. "Come on, Harry," Hermione urged. "Describe everything you saw when you went down the secret passage."

"Well... I counted the pictures of monsters with tails, like I told you, until I got to a picture of a lion. I put out the light in my wand, and there was this glowing outline of a doorway. So I opened it with the Muggle magic word-"

"'Please'." Hermione shook her head at herself. "I can't _believe_ I didn't think of that."

Ron leaned forward. "Anyway - what did you see when the secret door opened?"

This was the part where Harry squirmed awkwardly. "Er, it was... a sort of... study. With a big desk and red and gold carpet. I think it might have been... Godric Gryffindor's."

"_What?_" Ron's eyebrows shot up, as did the volume of his voice. "You found Godric Gryffindor's _private study_, and you didn't tell us?"

"It might not have been his!" he retorted defensively.

"Harry, why didn't you _say_?" Hermione demanded, looking hurt. "I assumed you'd just found it hanging on the wall or something, you didn't tell us it was in a secret place of Gryffindor's. It might be important!"

"I just wanted to keep it to myself for a while, all right?" Harry said hotly.

Now Ron looked hurt, and angry too. "Oh, what, you decided that you were going to keep all the clues to yourself, even though we're trying to solve this just as much as you are?"

"I just _wanted_ to have a place where I could be by myself for a while!"

"Without us, you mean?"

Hermione snagged Ron's sleeve to calm him down. "Harry," she said, with a soft sympathy that he found even more infuriating than the angry accusations. "You know, you have this thing about trying to do everything all by yourself-"

He shot out of his chair. "Oh, yeah, I just _love_ doing things by myself. I _like_ being completely alone with all these responsibilities that no one else can do anything about. I just love it when the people who are supposed to care about me all go away so I can make a mess of things all by myself. _That's_ why I got Sirius killed, because I just love doing things on my own so much!"

He stormed out of the library, leaving a rather stunned looking Hermione in his wake.

* * *

It was, surprisingly, Ron who came and found him up in the Owlery several hours later.

"Listen, Hermione's really upset about earlier," he said awkwardly.

"Good," said Harry bitterly, although he didn't really mean it. Ron came over and stood next to him, staring out at the winter sky.

"Look, I know I don't... I know we're not always good at saying anything about what you're going through," he said after a while. "I know I don't really understand any of it, and I probably never will, I just..." He broke off for a long moment. "I wanted to- I don't know if I ever thanked you properly for what you did last Christmas. You saved my dad's life. I don't know what we would have... well, if you hadn't-"

"If it hadn't been for me, he'd have never been in danger," Harry said darkly. He remembered with a shudder the horribly vivid dream in which he'd _been_ the snake that had nearly brutally murdered Arthur Weasley.

"You don't know that! And anyway, you've done tons of other stuff. You helped rescue Ginny when she was trapped in the Chamber of Secrets-"

"I don't want to be anyone's hero!" Harry snapped irritably.

"We don't _want_ you to be our hero!" Ron roared. He quieted down, and looked very serious. "We just want you to be our friend, Harry. That's all we want."

"Oh." Harry scuffed his toe awkwardly against the floor of the Owlery, feeling like an idiot. He was always lashing out at the people who were trying to help him the most. Why couldn't he control himself? "You _are_ a really good friend, Ron," he said sincerely. "You and Hermione both. You're the best friends I could ever ask for."

There was a moment of warm but slightly embarrassed silence. Then Ron hastily blinked his suspiciously watery eyes, and thrust his hands into his pockets in a suitably manly way. "Anyway. I'll, er- I'll tell Hermione you said that, if you want."

"All right." It would be a great relief not to go through this with the considerably more emotional third member of their trio. "Thanks, Ron."

"No problem, mate." They relaxed into a slightly more companionable silence, as Ron found Pig in the mess of owls and gave the excitable little bird one of Harry's owl treats.

Harry glanced at him sideways, and grinned. "She was really impressed with you solving that bit of the clue," he said.

"Nah." Ron attempted to look casual, but the tips of his ears were pink.

"Really impressed. She looked at you as if you were a seven-volume history of wizard law. With appendices."

"She did _not_!" Ron looked uncertain whether to be enthralled or horrified by this version of events. Harry laughed, and punched him lightly on the shoulder.

"Come on. Let's go down and find Hermione."

She turned out to be waiting for them both outside the library. As soon as she saw Harry she launched herself at him, and promptly burst into tears. He patted her shoulder nervously. "Er... It's all right, Hermione, really." He looked to Ron for help, but he just stood back and made 'she's mental' gestures in the background.

"Oh, Harry, I know we shouldn't snap at you, and you're under so much _pressure_, and it's not fair that you have to go through all of this completely by yourself-"

She went on in this vein for quite some time, while Harry made vaguely soothing noises and wondered if there was some magic key to stopping this sort of thing that he should have figured out right now. Hermione was just beginning to calm down and stop babbling when Snape stalked past, and gave them all a suspicious glare.

"Five points from Gryffindor for public displays of affection," he said icily, and disappeared into the library. Ron choked in outrage, and Hermione straightened up and pulled away from Harry.

"He didn't say a thing when Millicent Bulstrode's sister was kissing her boyfriend in front of everybody outside Potions," she noted, drying her eyes. Harry wondered how it was that girls always seemed to have useful, practical things like tissues secreted away in their robes for every occasion.

"Who'd want to snog Veronica Bulstrode?"

"I don't know," Ron said reflectively. "She might have a face like a troll, but she does have a nice pair of-"

"_Ron_!" Hermione shot him a glare that appeared to include Harry simply on the basis that he was male and standing in the same general area. "Really. Are you always going to be this immature?" She brushed down her wrinkled robe and tossed her hair. "Come on, Harry. Let's go and look at this study you found."

Ron hung back to walk with Harry, and shook his head. "I don't know why she's so upset. It's not like she even _likes_ Veronica Bulstrode-"

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"Now would be a good time to shut up."

"I know."

It was vaguely comforting, Harry reflected, to know that there was still _somebody_ in this world who was even more clueless around girls than he was.

* * *

Harry was beginning to feel vaguely disquieted as he led the way into the secret passage under the Owlery, but he convinced himself that it was nothing more than nervousness that Hermione would find some vital clue and it would be all his fault that nobody had seen it until now. When he reached the mosaic of the lion, though, he saw that despite the fact that his wand was still lit, the outline of the doorway was clearly visible. It looked like somebody had been trying to prise at the edges, chipping all the tiles around the doorway.

"Did it look like that before, Harry?" Hermione asked nervously. He shook his head.

"It looks like somebody's been trying to get in." He extinguished his wand with a whisper. "_Nox_. Open, please."

The doorway grumbled open, but the study beyond was in darkness. Though the magical fire had sometimes burned down when he'd fallen asleep in there, it had always been there to greet him when he'd arrived before. Harry stepped inside nervously, wand at the ready.

To his relief, a fire once more sprung up in the hearth, and the study looked as welcoming as ever. Nothing was damaged or strewn around the room - but Harry could tell, from all the subtle changes in position, that someone other than him had been going through the study. "I think the room's been searched," he said.

The other two looked at him anxiously. "Does it look like anything's been taken?" Hermione asked. He shook his head.

"I don't think so. There wasn't much to take."

"It's just as well you found that shield when you did, Harry," Ron said solemnly.

"Yeah." He relaxed a little. "But it looks like somebody else is following the clues just like we are."

"Could it be the teachers?" Hermione suggested hesitantly. Harry frowned.

"We can't take that chance. It could be somebody else trying to solve the mystery too - but it could just as easily be one of the Death Eaters trying to stop us from solving it. After all, if the teachers knew when or where to look for the clues, wouldn't they have uncovered the one in the Gryffindor common room by now?"

They all shifted slightly guiltily. Harry wondered if they should have told the staff immediately, instead of trying to solve the clues themselves. But they'd solved the first one, hadn't they? And if the teachers had just taken it out of their hands and refused to let them help, the Death Eater in the castle might have found the Gryffindor shield instead of Harry.

"Well, even if You- Voldemort has someone trying to solve the clues too, at least we're in the lead," Ron said, perhaps following the same train of thought as Harry. But Hermione looked up, face serious.

"No we're not, Ron. Because _we_ have to find all four of them to escape. _They_ only have to find _one_ of the items and stop us getting it to leave us trapped in here forever. We _have_ to solve the second clue - and quickly."


	15. The Badger's Den

With the knowledge that someone else was trying to reach the items before them, they redoubled their efforts to solve the Hufflepuff clue. Just when he could have used the extra help, Harry had become reluctant to ask anyone else to join them in their puzzling over it. There were people he trusted - Ginny, and Neville, and most of the rest of the DA - but the more people that knew, the more chance that their enemy would overhear and find out who was working against him. If Voldemort's agent found out that it was Harry who had beaten him to the first clue, then they might very well try to break into his dorm and search for the Gryffindor shield.

Come the second week of February, when the talk of almost everyone else in the school had turned to Valentine's Day, Harry and Ron were still sitting up late going over and over the rhyme. "Hard work will end what plot begins, and dig the secret out. Walk from the home of golden wins, but not quite in a shout," Harry recited. "Hard work will end what plot begins, and dig the secret out. Walk from the gome of holden wins, but not sh- Okay, I think I'm going to bed."

Ron was staring at him, a sugar quill dangling forgotten from his lips. "Harry! You're a genius!"

"I... am?" he said blankly.

"You've got it!" he exclaimed excitedly.

"Got what? Dyslexia?"

"Don't you see? Not quite in a shout! It's a word puzzle, like before with the 'shh, yield'. The letters are jumbled up. Not quite shout is _south_!"

Harry sat openmouthed for a long moment. Then he closed it with a snap. "Ron?"

"What?"

"I hate to tell you this, but I think Hermione is rubbing off on you."

Ron took that in for a beat. "Don't even joke about it."

Harry ran upstairs for his Invisibility Cloak, and they charged off in the direction of the trophy room.

"We should wait for Hermione, really," Ron huffed.

"We can't," said Harry reluctantly. "We can't waste any time, and we can't get into the girl's dorm to wake her up."

"I still don't see why _they_ have alarms to keep us out, and yet they can wander in and out of _our_ dorm any time they want," Ron grumbled resentfully.

"They obviously think we're less trustworthy than the girls."

"Huh. _We're_ the ones who've had an Invisibility Cloak for five years and never even once tried to sneak into the girls' bathrooms."

"Quite right."

"And we still wouldn't, even if we actually knew where they were."

"Exactly."

In their eagerness to get to the trophy room, they very nearly ran straight into Filch. Apparently there was a detention going on; Ron sympathised with the poor sods forced to polish the awards by hand, until he realised who they were.

"That's Ferus, isn't it?" A self-righteous voice was complaining loudly that they shouldn't be here, because 'that greasy little Ravenclaw swot' was behind it all.

Harry smirked to himself. _Good on you, Tiberius._ It was good to know the Slytherin bullies' earlier victim wasn't taking things lying down - and was apparently smart enough to get out of a shared punishment, too.

"Serves them right. Tossers," Ron said, with great satisfaction. "I reckon you're right, you know, Harry. Ferus is such a slimy git, he could definitely be You-Know-Who's man on the inside. Did you know, Ginny says he's so stuck up, he won't even sit with the other Slytherins? Imagine anybody being so anti-Muggle they think _Malfoy's_ too nice."

"We'd better get started before Filch catches us," Harry said. He used the Four-Point Spell to find south. "Have you got the rest of the clue?"

"By now I could recite it in my sleep, mate." Ron withdrew the rumpled page from his pocket anyway. "'The three of nines is where it ends' - that's the next bit. Any idea?"

"None. Let's just go south."

They headed down the passageway until they came to a dead end. There was a suit of armour in an alcove, but no amount of poking and prodding would get it to do anything.

"We must have overshot," Harry groaned.

Ron was busy examining the floor tiles. "Hey, look at these, Harry. It's a repeating pattern - every half dozen tiles, one of them's slightly set into the ground."

"You think it means something?"

He shrugged. "It's the only thing I can find that we could count."

They hastened back to the trophy room, while Harry mentally revised his nine-times table. He supposed he should be grateful to his junior school that they were so insistent on everybody learning them by heart instead of over-relying on calculators. Hogwarts didn't set aside time to teach any of the Muggle core subjects, but they marked for spelling and grammar and expected you to be able to do the maths in the exams, so he supposed primary schooling in the wizarding world must cover the same sort of basics.

They counted out twenty-seven of the inset tiles, and sure enough found there was a turn-off in the vicinity. Unfortunately, there were actually two, in opposite directions. "Which way?" asked Ron in a hushed whisper. They'd taken off the Cloak for ease of movement, which meant they had to be extra careful not to alert Filch to their presence.

"The next line is 'of sinister beware'." They eyed the two possible passages.

"The right one's got a gargoyle over it," Ron said doubtfully.

Harry shrugged. "Left, then?"

"I suppose."

They followed the left-hand passage. Ron had only taken about a dozen steps when he gave a sudden cry, and disappeared into the ground. Harry made a desperate lunge for him, and managed to grab his arm. Ron hung for a moment, suspended by Harry's hand and a fingertip grip, over what seemed to be a bottomless pit.

"Ron?" he said, after a second.

"Mm-hmm?" Ron answered mildly, sounding rather disconnected.

"I've just remembered."

"What?"

"You know the word 'sinister'?"

"Yes?"

"It used to be another word for 'left'."

"Ah."

"Uh-huh."

There was a slight pause. "Pull me up?" Ron suggested mildly.

"Right."

With a lot of tugging and a certain amount of swearing, Harry managed to rescue his friend from the pit. They both sat on the edge for a moment, trying to recover their breath.

"Next time we do this - no matter how urgent it is... let's bring Hermione," said Ron, with feeling.

They retraced their steps, and followed the other passage - rather more warily, this time. Harry was becoming increasingly lost. They were only a short distance away from the trophy room, and yet he couldn't remember ever seeing these corridors before. And how had no one fallen into that pit before in all this time? He wondered if this part of the castle was new... or rather, perhaps, old. Perhaps these passages had been sealed off or hidden for years, and had suddenly reappeared thanks to the Curse of Durand? In Hogwarts, anything could happen.

"'Look for the tree that never bends, and does not show the air'," Ron mumbled softly to himself as they walked. Harry looked around. The windows here were thin slits, and it was dark, but he could still see trees outside. None of them were immobile. Maybe they were looking for a statue?

"I don't see any unbending trees, Harry," Ron complained.

"Me neither."

Maybe they really _should_ have waited until they could bring Hermione.

The passage came to a dead end, and Harry stared around helplessly. There was nothing here that even remotely resembled a tree, except for the ones outside. He glanced up at the ceiling, and saw nothing there but cracked and yellowing paint. Or was it supposed to look like that? When you were going by the wizarding world's version of good taste, absolutely anything was possible.

_Stop admiring the decor,_ he berated himself, irritated. _You're not going to find the answer written on the walls._

"Harry?" Ron said suddenly.

"Yeah?"

"Look at that wall behind you."

Harry turned to faced the end wall of the passageway. It was covered in a puzzlingly regular pattern of dark lines; he stepped closer, and realised that he was looking at an enormous genealogy chart. He mentally shaped the words, and blinked.

"A _family_ tree?" he said incredulously.

"Oh, it gets worse," said Ron grimly. "I think 'does not show the air' is supposed to be a pun on 'heir'."

Harry digested that. "Wow."

"I know."

"What we're dealing with here is a sick, sick mind."

"Yeah." There was a rustle as Ron consulted his copy of the poem. "Okay. 'Observe the line'... 'press upon a noble soul'... I _think_ what we have to do is trace the family line all the way down, and press the name of the person who's the actual heir."

"All right - give me a boost up, would you?" The family tree started right up at the top of the wall, well above both their heads. With some awkward fumbling he managed to help Ron support his feet so he could examine the top line. He supposed there wasn't much call for physically boosting other people in the wizarding world.

"Who's at the top?" Ron asked, arms beginning to quake a little with the effort of supporting him.

"I don't know, it's- Damn. We need to go right a bit. Can you?"

"Not easily!" They lurched a few steps to the side, and Harry reexamined the wall.

"Oh, wow! Hey! This is Helga Hufflepuff's family tree," he realised.

"We could have done with one of those for Slytherin in the second year," Ron observed, grunting a little with effort.

"Sorry, Ron, I'll get down in a minute." He was already trying to trace the line of succession through the tree. "The first child is the heir in wizard law, right, regardless of whether it's a boy or a girl?"

"Of course!" Ron agreed blankly, as if clueless that there could be any other way of deciding things. It was funny, Harry mused, how the wizard world could be so far ahead of the Muggles in some ways, and yet absolutely centuries behind in others.

"All right, I've tracked it down a bit. I think you can let go now." He kept his finger on the appropriate name as Ron gratefully lowered him down to the ground. "Okay, this is her great-grandson - oh, no, he didn't have any kids, so I guess it goes back up to the sister... And then _her_ son... Hey, what does the dotted line mean?"

"Hmm? Oh. That means an illegitimate child," Ron explained, taking a look.

"So they'd be passed over for the heir?"

"Yeah. And the funny zigzags are Squibs. A lot of genealogies don't even show those."

There was a period of silence while Harry gradually traced the line straight down to near the floor.

"All right," he said finally. "So, by my estimation, the heir has to be this guy Algar Horkenthwip- Hang on." A thought suddenly struck him.

"Did you miss someone?"

"I'm just thinking." Harry was remembering Helga Hufflepuff's verse in the Sorting song. "This is _Hufflepuff_, remember? The witch who refused to reject absolutely anybody from the school, and thought things like loyalty were much more important than personality based stuff like how brave you are or whether you're pureblood."

"Yeah - so?" Ron frowned at him.

"So would she really cut off a family line just because they were illegitimate, or even for being Squibs? If Helga Hufflepuff was really that fair, then she'd surely make anybody her heir, no matter what their family circumstances."

Ron looked uncertain. "I don't know, Harry..."

"I'm going back up to that great-great-grandson." He traced the line down again, and this time reached a different conclusion. "Amalthea Branstone."

Ron gripped his arm. "What if you're wrong, Harry? Hufflepuff might have been fair, but an heir is a legal sort of thing. What if it _is_ Horkenthwip?"

Harry bit his lip. "I think it's Branstone," he insisted.

"What if it's not?"

"I think it is," he said stubbornly.

Ron edged backwards. "Okay, fine. But you can stand over the pit this time."

"All right." Harry tensed up for a moment, then knelt down and pointed his wand-

"Wait!" Ron hustled over to kneel down beside him. He gave Harry a slightly sheepish grin. "Just in case you need someone to pull you out of the pit," he explained hastily.

Harry smiled back. "Okay. Thanks, Ron."

They both reached forward together, and prodded the name of Amalthea Branstone with their wands. There was a long, still silence... And then the floor began to peel away from underneath them.

Harry's heart lurched, but then he realised that the stones were melting away to reveal a sloping passageway, not a pit. He and Ron exchanged a glance, and cautiously began to descend. It was dark, but not dank and unpleasant like the route to the Chamber of Secrets, or even the Slytherin common room. This was a warm, dry, earthy darkness; not precisely welcoming, exactly, but... lived-in, like an animal's den. He hoped Helga Hufflepuff hadn't left any creatures of her own to keep Salazar's basilisk company.

Ron edged closer to him. "I'm not sure we should be down here, Harry."

Harry knew what he meant. While Gryffindor's study had exuded an instant aura of openness and welcome, this place felt... He didn't think it was hostile to them, really, but there was a definite sense that they were intruding. He stopped walking.

"Hello?" he said cautiously.

Ron gripped his arm. "Are you completely nuts?" he hissed. "What if something _answers_?"

Fortunately, nothing did. But Harry was sure his words were being weighed and taken in.

"Hello," he repeated. "We're Gryffindors. We don't mean to intrude. We came to ask for your help. The..." He wasn't sure whether to mention the Curse of Durand, or whether the listening darkness would even know what that meant. "The school is in danger, and we need the help of all the houses to protect it. Gryffindors have always counted Hufflepuffs as loyal friends; will you help us?"

There was a change in the tenor of the silence - then, abruptly, the light at the tip of both of their wands went out. Ron seized him again, in a death grip. Harry stood very still, hardly daring to breathe.

Something alarmingly large snuffled in the darkness ahead of them. Harry tried not to yelp as a huge, warm snout nudged up against his leg. Hot, surprisingly pleasant smelling breath brushed over him as he was thoroughly sniffed over. Next to him, Ron trembled but stood firm as he was given the same treatment. Then the creature withdrew.

After a moment, there was a small, faint _plink_.

Harry forced his jellied muscles to move again, and raised his wand. "_Lumos!_"

A few feet ahead of them in the tunnel was a tiny stone model of a badger, small enough to comfortably hold in the palm of his hand. It blinked up at the pair of them in a fairly friendly manner.

"Is that...?" Ron began.

"I think so." Harry knelt down very carefully, and held out his hand towards the badger. It stepped into it quite happily, and he found when he raised it that it felt uncommonly heavy for such a seemingly insubstantial thing. "Thank you for helping us," he said for good measure.

As soon as they reemerged from the tunnel it sealed up behind them, and unlike Gryffindor's study, Harry suspected that this one would not open for them again if they returned. Unless, perhaps, they brought a Hufflepuff.

He glanced across at his best friend. "Well, that's two down."

"Yeah. Piece of cake," said Ron, still trembling slightly.


	16. Thaumentors

Harry suspected it would be cruel to the badger, if not outright impossible, to hide it away in the Gryffindor dorm, so they took it to the Room of Requirement. When he opened the door it was now a small chamber with four stone trophy stands; he placed the badger on top of the yellow and black striped one, and it happily curled up and went to sleep.

"We'll bring the shield down here tomorrow," Harry said, yawning. He was all but certain that the only people who knew about the Room of Requirement were the DA and maybe some of the staff, and he hoped that the fact that they required it to be a safe place to hide the items would keep them secure. If somebody else came in who wasn't specifically expecting to find the things, they should see another room entirely.

The sight of those four stands in house colours reminded him of something, though he wasn't sure what; a dream he'd had, perhaps? He was so exhausted that he fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, before he could chase the recollection down.

Hermione was rather frustrated that they hadn't taken her with them when they solved the clue, but Ron's dramatic reenactment - with two rather melted chocolate frogs playing the roles of Ron and Harry - of the plunge into the pit, and subsequent promise not to leave her out ever again, went some way towards mollifying her.

"Do you think we should tell the staff that we've found them?" she wondered.

"Well, they know about the Room of Requirement, don't they?" Harry pointed out. Dumbledore did, at least. "So in _theory_, if they _really_ need to get to the items-"

Hermione seemed less convinced with the beauty of this argument than Ron was. "Harry, I'm not sure-"

"Look, Hermione, I'm not keeping this secret just for the sake of it," he promised her. "If there's any reason why we suddenly need them to know, then we'll tell them, straight away. But they do already know what's basically happening with the Curse of Durand, so it's not like they're totally in the dark. They're already making their own investigations, and the more we share the details around, the more likely somebody's going to hear them being discussed. At least when it's just between the three of us, if it turns out the enemy suddenly knows something they shouldn't, we'll be able to figure out where they heard it."

"I suppose," she agreed, somewhat reluctantly. "Anyway, there's nothing we can do right now except wait for the next clue to appear."

"When's this one supposed to arrive?" Ron asked.

"If I'm right, the Vernal Equinox, in March."

"You're always right, Hermione," he said, with an exaggeratedly long-suffering sigh.

"Which common room will it be in?" Harry wondered.

"Ravenclaw, I hope. If there's any kind of order to this, alphabetical makes as much sense as anything else."

"Which gives us a few extra months to try and figure out what to do about the clue in Slytherin," he said grimly.

* * *

Obviously keen to keep morale up, the teachers had organised another big feast on Valentine's Day, and broken the Great Hall up into lots of smaller tables instead of the usual house divisions. Snape was once again absent, but not even Ron considered it suspicious this time. There was just something about the Head of Slytherin and heart-shaped cakes with pink icing that didn't quite mix.

Harry almost envied him the option of going off to lurk in a dark dungeon. There were couples giggling and whispering to each other all over the place, one of them Cho Chang and some brainless lump of a Hufflepuff seventh-year - _not_ that he was watching. Last year had clearly proved she was a few beans short of a jar of Bertie Botts, and he was doubtless better off without her. The last thing he needed was a girlfriend, anyway. All those people who pointed and snickered at the supposed hero of the wizarding world sitting by himself on Valentine's Day were complete idiots who had no _idea_ what really mattered. Serve them all right if Voldemort dropped another parcel of attack bugs on them.

Ron was hardly in a better mood, dividing his time between glaring suspiciously at Ginny and Dean where they sat together, and stiffly ignoring Hermione. For a change she had forsaken the boys' company entirely, and was sitting with a little knot of girls at the side of the room who were whispering amongst themselves, nudging and pointing, and occasionally breaking out into cackles of laughter. Harry didn't quite have the nerve to look their way too often, in case they started giggling at _him_.

Unfortunately, the only horror to descend from the skies that particular evening was the wizarding world's equivalent of a disco ball. Despite his previous plans to stick around in case anything happened, Harry decided to beat a hasty retreat before anybody could try to ask him to dance - or worse, nobody ask him at all. He spent the rest of the evening back in Gryffindor Tower with Ron, drawing up ever more wild plans for infiltrating house Slytherin, and complaining about the ridiculously unpredictable moods of girls.

* * *

The prospect of breaking into the enemy common room was not their only Slytherin-related issue. Professor Snape's Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons were getting steadily more arduous. Even though the practical lessons were at times surprisingly enjoyable, they were also exhausting and debilitating, and Snape's insistence that all injuries gained couldn't be healed until the rest of the session meant that even the theory work could be sheer torture. Harry bore it with as much grace as he could, knowing that even Snape in a foul mood would never be as harsh on him as Voldemort could easily be.

Since the mock exams, they had moved on to team exercises, which proved much more difficult than organised duelling or free-for-all sessions like working with the curse ball. The groups were changed every session, with only a split-second warning from Snape at the start for everybody to figure out who was friend and who was enemy. The "Potter vs. everyone else in the class" session had been... interesting, although even that hadn't been as disastrous as the one where Gryffindor and Slytherin had been teamed together. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw had managed to win a near flawless victory while the enemy team was busy hexing, beating up and sabotaging its own players.

Harry and the others had become fairly used to charging into class and ducking for cover, wands at the ready while they waited for the curt command from Snape that would be all the lesson plan they got. Anybody foolish enough to have ignored Professor Snape's initial warnings not to be late found themselves walking into a war-zone with absolutely no idea who was out to get them.

"House teams, no shields, I'll be hexing anybody who isn't under a Concealment Charm. Move!"

Whispering the first charm that came to mind, Harry spared a moment of relief for the knowledge that they were divided by houses. He usually walked to class with Ron and Hermione, and he'd lost count of the number of times the three of them had taken each other out right at the beginning of the session as they all shot off curses in response to Snape's command.

Harry was grateful for the background reading he'd thought to do on Concealment Charms. He struggled to remember the different types: none of them were quite as effective as an Invisibility Cloak, and they all had different kinds of strengths and weaknesses.

The spell he was using, _Dissimulatio_, was a simple Camouflage Charm that would hide him if he stayed still, but would be obvious when he was moving, and left him vulnerable to being tripped over. Distraction Charms wouldn't work in this situation, because everyone in the class knew to be looking for people who were concealed. Invisibility Charms were prone to flickering... He scanned the classroom carefully. It appeared to be empty, except for Professor Snape, but...

_Flicker._

He almost fired off a hex, but then realised he wasn't sure if it was even an enemy he'd seen. Oh, if only he had the Marauder's Map to put names to all the invisible bodies.

Wait. What was that spell Hermione had shown them all in the Room of Requirement? He waited for another flash of motion... "_Exhibero Veritas!_"

He found himself suddenly faced with a very surprised looking Terry Boot. Before he could think of a hex to hit him with, he heard Hermione's voice shout, "_Indexio Perpetuus!_" A bright blue cross suddenly appeared, splashed across Terry's chest. He hastily restored the Invisibility Charm, but the cross remained, hanging in the air.

"_Stupefy!_" Harry's was not the only spell to hit the unfortunate Terry.

Now that those who had been paying attention knew how to mark a temporarily revealed enemy, the battle was joined in earnest. Harry was able to take out Draco Malfoy early on, much to his satisfaction, although he also spent a brief but embarrassing interlude trying to hex what turned out to be an ill-aimed marker spell that had hit a wall, and at one point he unmasked Hermione and had to quickly restore her spell with a yelped apology.

Snape ended the session when Harry himself got tagged and thoroughly hexed; he was glad to see he'd been one of the last four people left standing. Draco glowered at him darkly as he removed the glowing cross from his robes with a Cleaning Charm. Harry very maturely stuck his tongue out. Fortunately, Snape didn't see.

The rest of the lesson passed pleasantly enough, for a Snape-driven session. As they were heading outside to go and see Hagrid, though, Ron suddenly lurched and almost fell.

"Ow!"

"What's wrong?" Hermione hovered over him. "Did you get hexed last lesson?"

"No." Ron bent over and rubbed his leg. "Felt like something stung me- argh!" He leapt up, as if he'd been squarely kicked in the behind. Harry heard a mocking chuckle from somewhere off to the right.

"Malfoy!" He drew his wand.

"He's still under a Concealment Charm." Hermione moved to join him.

"Where is he?"

"Just start blasting!" Ron commanded hotly. He was bright red with both anger and embarrassment. "_Exhibero Veritas! Exhibero Veritas! Exhibero Veritas!_"

"There! Got the bugger!" Harry shouted triumphantly. Hermione grabbed his arm, eyes widening.

"And not just him- Look, Harry!"

Harry looked beyond the sneering Malfoy, and realised he wasn't the only thing Ron's wildly fired-off spells had revealed. Carved into the stone wall behind him was quite clearly another of the rhyming clues.

Malfoy, seeing something in their expressions, was starting to turn-

"_Stupefy!_" The three of them hexed him as one, and he crumpled to the ground.

"Is that the next clue?" Ron gasped, struggling to catch his breath.

"No," said Hermione slowly, already reading. "Actually... I think it's the first one."

Harry stepped closer, ignoring the slumped Malfoy, and tilted his head back to read.

> _Alas my brother, seek you not  
> A resolution here  
> This brambled maze that hate begot  
> Shall last throughout the year _
> 
> _Your magic will avail you none  
> Sight spells will leave you blind  
> If you would have this task be done  
> Then you must use your mind _
> 
> _To pass the thorns your crimes have sowed  
> Observe the stations each  
> Else come Midsummer, freedom's road  
> Shall pass beyond your reach _

Ron was the last to finish reading. "You know, three months ago, this would have actually been useful."

"I was right," said Hermione triumphantly. "It _is_ keyed into the stations of the year!"

"And we have until Midsummer to solve it," said Harry grimly.

"This must have been the clue that Professor Flitwick covered up at the beginning of the year," Hermione realised.

Ron blinked. "You're telling me _I_ broke one of Flitwick's tailor-made illusions?

"Well, we already knew that people's magic was going dodgy," Harry pointed out. Malfoy, still collapsed on the ground ahead of them, emitted a faint groan. "_Definitely_ dodgy. Snape was out for ages when we all Stunned him together like that, and he's a whole lot tougher than Draco Malfoy."

"_Dennis Creevy_'s tougher than Draco Malfoy," Ron pointed out.

Hermione raised her wand. "Quickly, we have to cover the clue again before Draco wakes up. _Imago_ wall, everybody, with me."

"_Imago_ wall!" Their practise working together in the DA the year before had definitely paid dividends.

"There," said Hermione triumphantly. "Now, let's get to-"

"Er, Hermione..." Ron was looking out into the distance, over the hedge maze.

"What?"

He pointed. "Is it me, or are those... pretty big for owls?"

Harry looked, and saw half a dozen hunched shapes flying towards them. For a moment he thought they were people on brooms - then he realised. "It's those flying reptile things that attacked me before!" Six of them, and he hadn't even been able to fight off one... "We have to get inside."

Hermione whirled around. "We can't leave Malfoy!"

"We can!" said Ron emphatically.

"Ron! He's unconscious!"

"Oh, all _right_." He moved with poor grace to pick up the moaning Slytherin.

Hermione ran to join Harry, prepared to give Ron what cover they could. "Which direction are they coming from? North?"

"Er... East-ish, I think." He struggled to remember how this all looked on the Marauder's Map.

She pointed her wand. "_Potens Eurus!_"

The wind spell clearly worked, as he could see the branches of the nearest trees bending away from them, but it seemed to peter out as it reached the flying creatures.

"They're anti-magic! Our spells won't work on them!" He pulled her down as the beasts came swooping down towards them... and _whooshed_ straight overhead, heading as one for Ron and Malfoy.

"Ron, look out!" Hermione screamed.

"Yah!" He leapt away, leaving a newly wakened and rather wide-eyed Malfoy right in the path of the aerial invasion.

"Potter! What the hell did you do?" he demanded.

"It's nothing to do with me!"

Malfoy grabbed for his wand. "_Accendio!_" Absolutely nothing happened, and he blanched. "_Malleus! Incursio! S-stupefy!_ Er-"

"They're not _working_, Malfoy, you idiot!" Ron yelled at him, dragging him out of claw range at the last possible moment.

Harry grabbed a stone off the ground and pegged it at the nearest creature, but it didn't even seem to feel the impact. "Hermione!" he yelled. "Get Filch!"

_Why?_ she mouthed at him in befuddlement, even as she ran to obey. It was a hunch, nothing more. The creatures seemed to be completely blind and earless, but they'd homed straight in on Ron and Malfoy - ignoring the apparently less promising targets of him and Hermione. What if they sensed people by how much magic clung to them? He and Hermione might be less soaked in it, as they spent time away in the Muggle world, whereas pureblood wizards were never far from spells every day of their lives.

As for Squibs... well, if you saw by sensing magic, then wouldn't a Squib be completely invisible?

One of the creatures had latched on to Ron, seemingly trying to suck the essence out of him like a vampire - or a Dementor. "Malfoy! Help him, you-" Harry bellowed at him in frustration, but Draco was trying to crawl away, apparently completely unable to do a thing without magic to aid him. Harry leapt into the fray, kicking and punching at the beast that held Ron for lack of a better option.

"Mr. Potter! Mr. Malfoy! What on _earth_ is-" Professor McGonagall's admonishment cut off abruptly as she saw what they were battling. Harry twisted around desperately.

"Professor! Get back!" The creatures would probably consider her a far juicier target than three wizard schoolboys.

She ignored him, raising her wand. "_Repulsio!_"

Instead of being driven back, the magic-hunters wheeled around, and headed straight for her. She went down under the swarm. "Professor!"

"Harry!" Hermione arrived at a run, a baffled looking Filch loping after her, carrying a long, knobbly walking stick that Harry had often heard him whining for the opportunity to beat students with.

"Help Professor McGonagall!" he yelled, running over to tend to Ron. "Ron, are you all right?"

"I'll be up in five minutes, mum, I swear," he mumbled dazedly. Harry shook him by the shoulder.

Hermione ran up. "Harry, you were right! Look, they're scared of Filch!" The caretaker's flailing about him with the walking stick was having an effect where all Harry's stone-throwing and punching had done nothing.

"They're frightened of him because they can't see him," he explained. "He's a Squib, and I think they see by sensing magic."

"Of course!" she gasped, rocking back on her heels. "Thaumentors! I should have realised."

"What?" He stared up at her.

She looked around, and he followed her gaze. Filch, now helped by Hagrid, appeared to have the upper hand against the creatures, but Professor McGonagall lay crumpled on the ground, looking dangerously still. Hermione glanced at the semi-conscious Ron and snivelling Malfoy, and quickly gave Harry a hand up. "No time for that now. I'll get Madam Pomfrey, you get Professor Snape. We might need his potions to help them."

"All right!" He started off running without even pausing to consider the unfairness of that assignment. The slightest delay could well mean Professor McGonagall's life.

Harry charged through corridors of wide-eyed students and crashed his way down into the dungeons, bursting in on Snape's classroom full of second-years. They all gaped up at him as he struggled for breath. Snape raised a very pointed eyebrow. "Potter-" he began warningly.

"Professor McGonagall's been attacked!" he blurted out. "Outside. Flying things, Hermione called them Thaumentors-"

Snape pivoted smoothly on the spot, and coolly reached under his desk for a black leather case while his students gasped and shrieked. "All of you, douse the flames - make sure your potions cool to _blue_ before you attempt to lift the cauldrons. Somersby, run down to the Slytherin common room and have one of the Prefects come up and Vanish all the unfinished potions." He swept past Harry out of the doorway. "Move, Potter, we haven't got all day," he snapped over his shoulder.

Harry, far too winded to protest, simply staggered along, trying to keep up with Snape's even strides. An agitated Hermione met them before they reached the outside door. "Sir, Hagrid's already taken her down to the hospital wing," she supplied.

"Is she alive?" Harry asked urgently.

Hermione looked on the verge of tears. "I don't know."

"Then kindly stop wittering, and keep out of the way," Snape snarled at the both of them, quickening his pace. They chased him down to the hospital wing.

"Professor, can we-?"

"Stay outside," he ordered sharply.

"But- Ron's in there!" Hermione blurted.

Their only answer was the door slammed in their faces.


	17. Explanations and Bad News

It was a good half hour before Ron limped out to see them, looking still rather wobbly on his feet. Hermione threw herself at him in a huge bear hug, which he took rather sheepishly.

"What's happened to Professor McGonagall?" Harry asked nervously.

Ron looked grave. "I don't know. Professor Snape gave her something, but it doesn't look good." They were silent for a moment. "What _were_ those things?" he finally asked.

"I think they were Thaumentors," Hermione said. Ron seemed no more enlightened by that than Harry was. "They're sort of a distant relative of Dementors, except they feed on magic instead of emotions. I should have thought of them much earlier, when Harry first described what happened before Christmas, but no one really agrees on what they were supposed to look like - no one's even seen one for four hundred years!"

"Once again, Miss Granger, your perceptiveness is quite remarkable." They all jumped, none of them having seen Dumbledore approach. "Mr. Weasley, rest assured, your magic levels will be quite back to normal after a few good nights' rest."

Ron sighed in relief from a tension Harry hadn't realised he was carrying.

"Sir, does the Thaumentors coming back have anything to do with the Curse of Durand?" Harry asked. Dumbledore smiled behind his beard.

"I see that as usual, Mr. Potter, you seem to have found the answers to all your own questions before you even pose them." He gestured to the window. "The hedge maze you see outside is not, precisely, around Hogwarts. Or rather, it is... but only on one side."

They contemplated that for a moment.

"What?" said Ron.

"Like a Möbius strip?" Hermione asked.

"What?" Ron repeated.

Dumbledore twinkled at her approvingly. "An apt metaphor indeed, Miss Granger. I find it is quite remarkable what Muggle mathematicians can put their minds to without the aid of magic. Yes, you are quite correct - Durand's maze is, in truth, essentially one-sided. Or rather, one-sided from one side, at least."

Harry's brain had zoned out several exits back, but Hermione seemed to be following. "Meaning you can pass through it to get in, but once you're inside, there's no way out."

"Indeed."

Harry frowned. "Then how do the owls-?"

"The owl post has a magic of its own," Dumbledore said. "Alas, it is not one we humans can use. For a while, at least, the hedge is a physical barrier only, and magic can still pass through it to the outside world."

"That was why you were able to set up the Window of Opportunity?" Harry guessed. The Headmaster nodded.

"What about the Floo Network?" asked Ron.

"A very intelligent suggestion, Mr. Weasley - and one that your teaching staff took considerably longer to come up with, I might add." Ron blushed. "However, it seems that travelling by Floo is bound by the same rules, and once again, it is possible to enter, but not leave. I suspect that were it possible to Apparate on Hogwarts grounds, that too would be similarly affected - and in any case, it would be foolish indeed to attempt it considering current circumstances."

"Meaning those... things outside," Harry concluded. "Are they responsible for everything that's been going so strange with our magic?"

Dumbledore nodded, but Hermione frowned. "I can understand why those who are best at magic are weakened by the presence of the Thaumentors, but why are some people boosted at things?"

"That, it seems, is an interesting side effect that Durand Adroganter was first to discover. When Thaumentors are present at a distance, they draw power from those who are magically strongest, but - as you now have reason to be intimately aware - they require close contact to be able to absorb it. This means that there is a certain amount of... free-floating power, if you will, drawn from the stronger sources but not collected - and those who are concentrating hard on tasks they find difficult will often unconsciously draw magic from their surroundings in an effort to be more successful."

Hermione was looking utterly fascinated by this sudden branching into magical theory, but Harry had more concrete concerns to be going on with. "Professor Dumbledore - am I right in thinking that if we don't solve Durand's magical puzzle by Midsummer, then even the magic will be stopped from passing through the hedge maze... and we'll be trapped in here forever?"

Dumbledore's twinkle faded completely. "You are indeed, Mr. Potter," he said softly. "You are indeed."

* * *

It was several days before Professor McGonagall returned to teaching her classes, but she seemed quietly gratified by the round of applause that she got from her sixth-year Transfiguration NEWT group. The Slytherins didn't join the cheers, of course, but they didn't actively jeer, either. News of the attack had rippled through the school, and everyone was on edge. The idea of creatures that could not be repulsed by magic was a frightening one to everybody, and they were all no doubt relieved to know that the effects of such an attack were not necessarily permanent.

Dumbledore had spoken to the students over dinner the day after the attack, to correct some of the more egregious misinformation and issue further warnings to stay within sight of others at all times, especially outdoors. But beyond that, life went on as before. Ron, who had been hit worst by the attack, was completely unable to use magic for two days, and almost cried with relief when an unthinking attempt to summon a Pumpkin Pasty across the room suddenly worked. Draco, despite the fact he hadn't been drained of magic nearly so badly, retreated to the Slytherin quarters for almost a week and refused to come out.

Harry himself found his spellcasting to be rather erratic for some time afterwards, which put him in the very unusual position of almost looking forward to Potions lessons. At least then, with a fixed recipe and no wand work required, he could be reasonably assured that if he focused well enough, things would turn out correctly.

Not that Snape ever acknowledged it, of course. However, Harry had been doing surprisingly well in Potions since they moved up to the NEWT class. The fact that there were far less people in the room and the Potions were that much more intricate and complex meant that he was concentrating better, and he had to rather guiltily admit that the classroom was definitely less distracting without Neville around.

Which wasn't to say there were never explosions. One particular Thursday when Snape appeared to be in a fouler mood than ever, Justin Finch-Fletchley accidentally added Bonnacon Dung instead of Bundimun Secretion to his Purging Potation, and caused a mass evacuation. The resulting clouds of smoke, coupled with Snape's loud and vitriolic attempt to remove every point Hufflepuff had earned since September, gave Harry a horrible pulsing headache that stubbornly refused to shift for hours afterwards.

"You should go and see Madam Pomfrey," Hermione advised him, watching him grimace over a Defence text despite the fact that only one word in ten was sinking in.

"I'm fine, Hermione, really." The protest was automatic, and he was half surprised he didn't ruin it by vomiting. He felt terrible.

She glared at him. "Harry, you are _not_ fine. You have to stop trying to cope with everything on your own!"

"All right!" He stood up, actually rather grateful that she'd pushed him into it. "I'll go to Madam Pomfrey."

He went down to the hospital wing, but the Hogwarts matron was surprisingly unsympathetic.

"I can't keep handing out potions like two-Knut sweets, Mr. Potter! Our stocks are low enough as it is, and goodness knows they don't keep their potency with those unnatural beasts flying about outside..." She sighed. "It really is emergency use only, Mr. Potter; you can either be charmed to sleep it off and spend the night in the hospital wing, or you can go and see Professor Snape and ask him to make you up a cure fresh."

Neither of those options held any appeal whatsoever. "I'll just... go back to my dorm and lie down, I think."

"Well, go on, then. Be off with you." She was already turning to the next patient; ever since the news of the presence of the Thaumentors had broken, half the school kept rushing in for medical check-ups, convinced they'd been drained of their powers in their sleep.

Harry staggered out, but he wasn't sure he could face going back to Gryffindor Tower. The pain in his head was absolutely crushing, now - his forehead seemed to scorch the palm of his hand when he felt it. He staggered across to the Owlery instead, seeking the peace and quiet of Gryffindor's study.

He almost passed out in the passageway before he got down there, but the second he stepped inside the door, the headache was gone. He stopped, and massaged his head in wonder. No pain.

"Cheers, Godric," he mumbled aloud to the room, and slumped down into the oversized chair to go to sleep.

* * *

Harry had been too exhausted by hours of head pains to be thinking anything much, but if he had been, he would have intended to just nap for a while and then make it back to the dorms. Instead, when he woke to find the fire again burned down to ash, and the clock below the Owlery reading only a few minutes before breakfast. He dashed into the nearest toilets to splash water on his face, and then ran on down to the Great Hall.

"Harry! There you are!" Ron looked relieved to see him.

"We've been worried sick." Hermione inspected him anxiously. "Did you stay overnight in the hospital wing?"

He shook his head, and was relieved to find it didn't hurt any more. "In Gryffindor's study."

"Oh." She considered. "Well, I suppose you're safe enough in there."

"Remus said I would be," he agreed.

"You told Professor Lupin?"

"When I wrote to him last. I think he and my dad and the others found it when they were at school. It must have been after they made the Marauder's Map, though."

Hermione considered him. "You do look better," she conceded.

"My headache went away as soon as I got inside," he explained. "I think there must be some kind of anti-tension spell on the room or something."

She frowned. "That's odd. I don't think that can be it, because it's been proven that those kind of spells can easily cause you to miss important appointments because they damage your sense of priorities and-"

Ron groaned into his porridge. "Hermione, can we save the lectures until _after_ breakfast?"

Hermione would have probably argued, if she hadn't had to hurry off to her Arithmancy lesson. Harry played Exploding Snap with Ron, Dean and Neville in the common room until they had to go to Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Although the most strenuous Defence practicals took place during the double lesson on Tuesday mornings, the Friday class was usually still quite active, with Snape picking random pairs of students to hex each other at a moment's notice. Today, though, they were curtly ordered into their seats and made to write an essay from memory on the limitations of protection spells. Snape prowled through the room enforcing utter silence, looking as if he should have had a tail just so he could be twitching it warningly. Apparently his rotten mood of the day before had only grown overnight. Harry wondered if the fumes had given him a headache, too.

About twenty minutes into the lesson, the silence was broken by a nervous third-year entering with a note. "Professor Snape..."

Harry expected Snape to roar at her, but he simply stalked over, and snatched the paper out of her hands as if he had been waiting for it. His face was stony and unchanging as he read.

Then he crumpled the note in his hand, and turned. "Weasley," he barked. "You're wanted in Dumbledore's office. Leave your things."

Ron went white as a sheet and got up, wobbling towards the door. Snape's cold, assessing gaze fell onto Harry, who struggled to keep his expression neutral.

Then, completely unexpectedly: "Potter. Granger. Go with him."

Harry suddenly felt very sick indeed.

They flanked a rather unsteady Ron as he made his way towards the Headmaster's office. None of them spoke. Harry dreaded to think what could have happened. Either Snape had almost refused a request to send Ron's friends and then thought better of it... or, worse, he'd thought it necessary to send them along on his own initiative.

Ginny joined them emerging from the Transfiguration classroom, and the queasy feeling in Harry's stomach got worse.

There was no guessing of incongruously cheerful passwords today. Dumbledore was waiting for them, and greeted them with a solemn nod. "Ah, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter. I am glad that you are here... but I'm afraid that you must wait outside for a while."

They both stood back, and waited in traumatized silence as the two Weasleys entered the Headmaster's office.

They seemed to stay in there a very long time. Eventually, Ron emerged, looking at the ground. A red-eyed and silent Ginny lingered behind him. Harry and Hermione ran to them, but neither dared to shape a question, and they waited for Ron to finally speak.

"Voldemort attacked the Ministry of Magic," he said dully.

Harry swallowed. "Is your dad-?"

"He wasn't even there. He was at home." There was a long and horrible pause. "The Death Eaters tried to kill the Minister of Magic. Percy saved his life."

Hermione paled. "Is Percy... all right?"

"No, he's not." Ron raised his head; his eyes were devoid of the slightest flicker of any emotion. "He's dead."

* * *

Nobody knew what to say. Hermione and a few of the other Gryffindor girls went off with Ginny for a while, but Harry was left with Ron, and he didn't know what to do. His best friend just sat on the bed with his arms around his knees, and barely responded to any of the awkward comments the others tried to make to him.

Harry's own mind was racing. He was horribly aware that he hadn't liked Percy very much, and had said and thought some very nasty things over the last year or so when the most ambitious of the Weasley brothers was acting like a prat and toady to Fudge.

And now he was dead.

Killed saving the life of a man who almost certainly didn't deserve it. There was no way Cornelius Fudge could ever be worth the sacrifice of Percy Weasley. It seemed he'd been a true Gryffindor at heart, after all. Probably a much better one than Harry.

After a while, Ron went to sleep, or pretended to. Knowing there was nothing he could do or say that wouldn't sound trite or false, Harry went back down to the half-empty and very subdued common room. Hermione was there, being relentlessly sensible, tidying and straightening things and always keeping in motion. Harry thought that if he was to stop her and hold her by the shoulders, she would probably explode.

"We should go back to class and collect our things," she babbled, while he pretended not to notice the telltale redness around her eyes. "I left my ink bottle, and Ron will need his quill. We all missed Transfiguration this afternoon; I'll have to ask Parvati if I can borrow her notes. Professor McGonagall always sets the homework on Fridays - it's probably still written on the board, we can check on our way back..."

Harry let the words wash over him, and took no offence at their trivial content. He knew it was Hermione's way of dealing with things, pretending everything was all under control and neatly managed.

They returned to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, and found their essays where they'd left them. Harry packed away his own and held Ron's awkwardly, feeling almost as if it was Ron who had died thanks to this strange ritual of collecting up his abandoned things.

They met Professor Snape in the corridor; he regarded them with his usual curled lip. "Potter. Miss Granger."

Harry eyed him challengingly, aching for a chance to convert the burning sensation in his chest into anger and fire it off at an external target.

"Professor," said Hermione shakily.

"I expect you to make up for the lesson time that you missed," he said coldly. "You will both turn in fourteen inches on the use of the major Shield Charms in a combat context versus formalised duelling by Tuesday's lesson."

Harry felt his fury and indignation begin to build, his hand itching to reach for his wand.

Snape started to move away, and paused. "Mr. Weasley is excused," he added over his shoulder, and walked away without turning.

Hermione abruptly burst into tears. Harry's anger melted away like candle wax into a big messy pool of confused emotions; he patted her shoulder awkwardly, and wished that he could think of something to do.

But he knew there was nothing.


	18. The Floating Eye Charm

Harry lay awake long into the night. He could tell from the stillness that Ron was awake too, but there were simply no words to try and approach him with. Harry clenched his fists helplessly in the bedclothes, and waited for sleep to come.

When it did, it brought stomach-churning nightmares. They barely even made sequences, just fractured flashes of events as the people in his life berated him for his failures.

"You're too late!" Sirius railed at him. He looked as he had when he'd first escaped from Azkaban, wild-eyed and terrible. "Your father would have saved me! He would have saved Cedric!"

Professor Snape glared down at him, as enormously tall and imposing as he had once seemed when Harry was just a first-year. "Potter, what did we tell you about paying attention to your Occlumency lessons? Have you learned _nothing_ in all this time? Did you not consider it important to tell anyone your scar was hurting? Mr. Weasley's life not sufficient reason to disturb your beauty sleep?"

"Harry, why didn't you _tell_ somebody?" Hermione asked plaintively.

Harry woke with a start in a pool of cold sweat. Could it be true?

His head _had_ been hurting on the night of the attack on the Ministry. He'd thought it was just a headache from the potion fumes - what if it had started that way, but it had blended in to the more familiar pain from his curse scar without him noticing? Hermione had _said_ it was strange that entering Gryffindor's study had made the headache vanish. What if it hadn't been an anti-tension spell at all, but some kind of protection against mental attacks...?

He might well have had advance warning of a Death Eater attack, and instead of going straight to Snape or Dumbledore, he'd blithely curled up in his bolt-hole and gone to sleep.

Harry sat up in bed, and was both disturbed and relieved to find Ron gone. The knowledge of his possible complicity in Percy's death sat heavily on his stomach, and he wasn't sure he could have faced his best friend just then.

The Gryffindor table was very subdued over breakfast. Harry found himself unexpectedly dismayed that it was a weekend, with no classes to go to. He wouldn't have taken in a thing, but at least it would have been a distraction. Even Snape shouting at him might be better than just sitting wallowing in guilt.

He only glimpsed Ron once, briefly, that day; he was walking along the shore on the other side of the lake with Dumbledore. Harry felt a surprising amount of bitterness well up at the sight. Once, he might have believed that Dumbledore had the answer to anything, and knew how to cure all ills. Now he knew better.

Dumbledore wasn't anybody's perfect saviour. And neither was he, the great Harry Potter. He was just a helpless, tired little boy who never stopped to think before he acted.

He wanted to be alone, but he no longer felt comfortable about retreating to Gryffindor's study. If it truly had some powerful protection that closed off his connection to Voldemort while he was inside, then its refuge came at too high a price. He couldn't sell other people's lives for the sake of a good night's sleep.

Instead, Harry retreated to the furthest corner of the library, burying himself in books that he wasn't really reading. When somebody came over and sat by him an hour or so later, he raised his head to send them away with a sharp word, and found himself faced with Ginny Weasley.

"Hi, Harry," she said softly.

"Ginny." Harry suddenly felt incapable of keeping his guilt inside, and had to blurt it out. "Ginny, this is all my fault! My scar hurt, but I wasn't thinking, I thought it was just an ordinary headache-"

He didn't see the slap coming until it hit his cheek with a very loud _crack_. He shut up, and stared at her, stunned. She massaged her hand, and smiled at him in a rather sympathetic way.

"You're a sweet boy, Harry Potter. You really are," she said. "And I'm sure you honestly do have some warped reason for thinking this is your fault. But I really don't think I can deal with you being guilty at me right now."

Harry blinked a few times. "Oh."

Ginny leaned her head against his shoulder. "It's not your fault, Harry. It's not Percy's, Fudge's, ours or anybody's. The only ones to blame are the Death Eaters."

"Yeah," he said quietly.

"And that's why we have to keep fighting," she said with surprising determination. "Voldemort has to be defeated. This can't go on."

"Do you really think killing him will fix anything?" Harry had to ask.

"We can't fix it, but we _can_ stop it. And if that's all we can do, that's what we'll do."

Harry nodded, and they sat together for a while in silence.

* * *

Harry was keen for the arrival of next clue, desperate to have something constructive to focus on instead of his dismal thoughts. However, Hermione's estimated arrival date came and went, and their Ravenclaw allies regretfully reported that it hadn't appeared.

"We searched the whole common room this morning," Terry said, shrugging awkwardly. They'd asked him to meet them in the Room of Requirement the day after the clue was supposed to appear. "There's nothing. I'm sorry." He left hastily, with a quick, pitying glance at Ron. Nobody wanted to be too close to the Weasleys all of a sudden, as if the death of family members might be catching.

Hermione was dismayed. "I was so _sure_ it was going to be in Ravenclaw this time!" Her lip trembled. Ever since the news about Percy, Hermione had been throwing herself into things with even more than her usual obsessiveness, and grew perilously close to falling apart if anything went wrong.

"It's not your fault, Hermione," Ron said quietly. There was a brief silence.

"Slytherin, then?" said Harry, eventually.

"It's the most logical place to look," Hermione agreed shakily.

"I'm not taking Polyjuice Potion again," Harry said firmly.

"We don't have time, anyway. It would take at least a month to brew, and the chances of being able to steal the same ingredients from Professor Snape's stores-"

"Couldn't we get one of the Slytherin Prefects to set a new password?" Ron suggested.

Harry frowned in surprised. "You're allowed to do that?"

"Only in emergency," Hermione explained. "If the password's been leaked or accidentally set wrong so no one can get in."

Ron smiled suddenly. "Fred and George were always trying to figure out a way to reset the passwords to what they wanted. I remember on time they stole Percy's glasses and enchanted them to-" He cut himself off abruptly, and stared at the floor.

"Ron..." Harry hesitantly reached for his arm, but he immediately jumped to his feet.

"I have to go and- I need the toilet." He hurried out, and Harry sighed.

"Oh, Ron," Hermione said softly. Then she suddenly sat up straight in her seat. "Wait, Harry, that's it! Your glasses!"

"What about my glasses?" He clutched at them nervously.

"We can cast a Floating Eye Charm on them! If we link the view through your glasses to an object that somebody takes inside the room, then you'll be able to look around the without needing to get inside! Wait here, I'm going to the library."

She returned a few minutes later with a large, wobbling pile of books. Ron had not come back from his supposed trip to the toilets, but by unspoken consent neither of them made any motion to go and search for him.

A few moments later, Hermione made a sound of triumph. "Here we are - the Floating Eye Charm." She looked around the room. "We won't cast it on your glasses yet, Harry - there's no need to do that while we're just practising. We can just cast it on that wall, and attach the focus to a cushion. Then one of us can carry it out into the corridor, and see if the spell works."

The Floating Eye Charm required the two spells to be cast in quick succession, with one wand touching the cushion, and one touching the wall.

"Ready, Harry?" Hermione checked. "One, two, three... _Spectare Locus!_"

"_Conspectus Missere!_"

A brief red glow surrounded the end of his wand, but nothing seemed to happen to the cushion. Until he glanced towards Hermione, and saw his own face, viewed from below, pictured on the wall.

"Wow, that's weird." He wiggled the cushion experimentally. It was rather like watching himself on the monitor of a shop security camera, except that the picture had none of the delay or distortion present in a cheap electronic system.

"It's working," Hermione said triumphantly. "Quick, take the cushion out into the corridor."

He tossed it over to her. "No, you take it out."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to be seen wandering around Hogwarts hugging a cushion!" It was pink, and had tassels. He could only hope it was Hermione's subconscious that had decided it was required when they entered the room, and not his own.

She rolled her eyes at him, but took the cushion and went outside with it. The image on the wall lasted until she got to the end of the corridor, and then blinked out; Harry assumed it was outside the spell's range.

"We're going to have to be standing right outside the Slytherin common room to use this," he observed, as she came back.

"I know - that's why I thought we should use your glasses to view what's going on; even if we're spotted, it won't look like we're doing anything odd."

"Apart from hanging around outside the entrance to the Slytherin dorms," he noted wryly. "What are we going to use for the other end of the spell?"

Hermione frowned. "I don't know... I thought at first we could enchant something of Malfoy's for him to carry in, but I don't think it would work. I mean, all he would have to do is hold it the wrong way around, and we wouldn't see anything at all. I suppose we'd have to have something that could enter the room under its own power - then we'd only have to wait for someone to open the door. But it would have to be able to fly all round the room... and move pretty fast, because it would be sure to be spotted pretty quickly."

"Something sort of like the Golden Snitch?" Harry said.

Hermione grabbed his shoulders delightedly. "Harry! That's _brilliant_!"

He reconsidered. "Not really. I know there's no official Quidditch this year, but Madam Hooch still keeps the balls under lock and key, and they have all kinds of spells on to prevent magical tampering."

"That doesn't matter. We don't need a real Snitch, we can just get any old ball and enchant it to behave like one. That part of the enchantment's quite easy - it's all the other things they have to lay on to make sure it's a completely fair match that are difficult to do. And the best thing is that if anyone spots it, they'll think it's just a toy!"

"Oliver Wood used to keep golf balls for practises," Harry remembered. "I'll see if I can dig up a few of those, and you can have a go at enchanting them."

* * *

Hermione's fake Snitches were a great hit in the Gryffindor common room, helping to shake the general malaise that had settled over the house since the shattering news about Percy Weasley. Even Ginny raised a smile watching her housemates leap about in pursuit of them, though she refused to be drawn into joining in. Ron remained quiet and withdrawn. Harry's heart ached for him. His own grief for Sirius was still fresh in his mind, and he couldn't imagine how much worse it must be to learn of a death from out of the blue like that.

He and Hermione offered Ron a chance to come along on their spying mission, but he turned them down.

"I know it's important to do, but you don't need me there," he said. "You can do it just as easily with two of you, and it'd only make you look more suspicious. Besides... everybody notices me, at the moment."

Hermione looked worried at his response, but she didn't try to persuade him.

"He'll be okay," Harry said, as they hurried through the corridors. "He just needs time." He'd resented the platitudes when they were spoken about him over the summer, and they didn't taste much better on this side of it.

"I know. Ron's strong. It's just..." Hermione's eyes glittered with the suggestion of unshed tears. "This has changed him, Harry, and I'm worried that he'll never change back."

And Harry said nothing. Because the truth was that Ron probably never would be completely the same, and both of them knew it, too. Ron had been a refuge, of a sort, for both of them. Hermione always worried about everything and Harry seemed to have the world piled onto his shoulders, but Ron had always been more grounded, ready to pull them back into a different, simpler, happier world that revolved around Quidditch and midnight feasts and detentions. Harry supposed he was the only one of them who really acted their age, most of the time.

He wasn't sure he could deal with Ron growing up. Somehow, in whatever terrible futures he'd imagined for himself, he'd always imagined his two closest friends remaining exactly as they were, pulling him in two different directions so he somehow ended up walking along the right sort of straight line.

It felt wrong to be doing this actively _without_ Ron, in a way that it wouldn't have if Ron had simply been unable to come along. It was like the difference between knowing he couldn't talk to Sirius because he was in hiding, and not being able to talk to him because he was gone.

"Ready?" said Hermione nervously. Harry nodded, feeling self-conscious and conspicuous lurking in this part of the castle. They hadn't wanted to risk bringing the Invisibility Cloak for this; they'd had to come early in the evening to make sure there would be plenty of people going in and out, and the chance of someone tripping over them was just too high.

The enchanted golf ball was rather sluggishly bumping around the inside of his fist; Hermione had temporarily charmed it to move slowly, so they stood a chance of actually getting it in the door.

"Pansy Parkinson's coming. You pretend to clean your glasses and we'll cast the spell now, and I'll drop the ball into her bag. Quickly!"

He handed the ball over, and took his glasses off, trying to disguise the fact that he was pointing his wand at them while he pretended to rub them on his robes. "_Spectare Locus!_" he incanted, as softly as he could. He heard Hermione murmur her own part of the spell, facing the wall to hide the momentary glow.

Pansy gave them what he assumed was a highly suspiciously look - he couldn't read it very well without his glasses on - that morphed into a scowl when Hermione approached her. "Pansy! Have you seen Professor Snape? I really need to ask him a question about the Potions homework, the textbooks aren't very clear about what colour of powdered amber you should use-"

"Get lost, Granger," the Slytherin girl snarled, pulling away from Hermione's grip.

"Done," she said with soft triumph, as she came over to rejoin Harry. The two of them pretended to wander away as Pansy headed for the entrance to the Slytherin quarters.

"How long before it wakes up?" Harry asked.

"The Impediment Jinx should only keep it for another minute or so at most. Hopefully she'll head into the common room and not straight for the dorms. Put your glasses on and see what you can see."

"If I see Millicent Bulstrode naked or anything, I'm holding you responsible for the emotional trauma," he warned. He put the glasses back on, and immediately staggered and grabbed on to the wall. Only one of the lenses had been enchanted by the Floating Eye Charm - the left was still showing him an ordinary view of the corridor. The split-screen effect was incredibly disconcerting, and it was very hard to focus.

"What can you see?" Hermione demanded, clutching his arm.

Something cylindrical and an alarming shade of pink, over-magnified and right in front of his eye. "Urgh. Pansy Parkinson's lipstick, I think."

"It's not that horrible pink she was wearing last Saturday, is it?" Hermione said, with a slight note of smug disapproval.

"Hermione, I'm a boy," he reminded her. "We don't even notice when someone's wearing lipstick unless it's _green_. Oh, wait- the image is jiggling about - I think the Snitch is trying to get out of the bag." He grimaced. "Wow, this is making me dizzy. Oh, whoa!"

The Snitch had worked its way loose, and Harry was suddenly treated to a high speed, darting ride through the Slytherin chambers. He closed his left eye and used his hands to block out as much of the view around his glasses as he could, which helped a little. He glimpsed a flash of wall - ceiling - somebody's robes - more wall - a distorted view of a somebody's face-

"What can you see, what can you see?" Hermione was practically jumping up and down.

"Too much!" The images blurred by faster than he could follow. "Well, I've seen most of- yeargh - most of two of the walls I think, and... whoa... okay, it's just swooped along the back wall. Nothing there. Now it's hovering around the ceiling... Ha!"

"Is the poem there?" she asked urgently.

"No, it just divebombed Crabbe." Harry smirked. "They're all trying to catch it. Erm... okay, it just kind of spun around in the middle of the room. I can't see anything written anywhere, Hermione, and the walls are pretty bare - unless one of them had the brains to cover it with an illusion, there's nothing here."

Hermione jiggled nervously. "Are you absolutely sure, Harry?"

"I'm sure. The Snitch is going all over the place, I should at least have glimpsed it by now if it's written anywhere on the walls." A familiar, if rather stretched and blurry, face loomed in the Snitch's view point. "Oh, no. Malfoy." Harry automatically flinched back as a giant hand appeared to grope towards his head-

"_Finite Incantatem!_"

His glasses cleared, and he breathed out. "Thanks, Hermione."

She looked troubled. "So it's not in Ravenclaw _or_ Slytherin. What are we going to do now?"

"I don't know. Is there-" Harry broke off abruptly as the wall across from him started to move. "Uh-oh. Somebody's coming out. Let's get out of here."

They fled the scene.


	19. The Most Unlikely Idea Yet

"I don't understand it," Hermione said, checking over her copies of the rhyming clues for the umpteenth time. "I was so sure..."

"Well, maybe you _were_ right, Hermione," Ron interjected. He was back to taking part in conversations now, but his voice was still very flat and emotionless, as if he was not quite all there. "We know that somebody else is trying to solve the clues. Maybe they got there ahead of us, and hid the evidence the same way we did."

Hermione sighed. "What we _really_ need is to be able to get inside the common rooms and do a proper search, testing for illusions this time."

"But how can we?" Harry wondered. "I mean, even if we used Polyjuice again, it would look really suspicious."

"We still don't have time for it, anyway. And we're almost certain to be caught if we try to creep in under the Invisibility Cloak..."

"Here's an idea," Ron said dully. "How about we go to Dumbledore, tell him what we know, and ask to be let into the Ravenclaw common room to look around?"

There was a long, rather gobsmacked pause, and then Hermione stood up. "Ron's right," she said forcefully, gathering up her scribbled notes. "We're thinking like children, and we can't afford to do that any more. This is important, and when we need help, we should ask for it, instead of wasting time trying to do it all by ourselves without anyone knowing."

Harry scraped his chair back. "You're right," he agreed heavily. "Come on. Let's go to Dumbledore."

* * *

Professor McGonagall was in the Headmaster's office when they went to see him; after exchanging a quick glance, they decided they might as well explain to her as well. She listened to their story with increasing incredulity, although Dumbledore seemed unsurprised.

"I think," McGonagall said, lips pursed together, when they had finished, "that we had better see these magical items of yours."

The Room of Requirement was once again displaying itself as a trophy cabinet when they went back to it. The Gryffindor shield reacted ecstatically to the presence of Professor McGonagall, the lion leaping out without prompting, and immediately rubbing around her feet like a domestic cat.

"It did that for Harry, as well," Hermione said. "It seems to like the rest of us, but it won't obey us in the same way."

"Indeed," said Professor Dumbledore, eyes twinkling as if he'd expected this.

"And this one belongs to Hufflepuff," Harry said, lifting the badger statue down. "He's... friendly, I think, but he knows we're not from his house. I suppose he'd like Professor Sprout much better."

"I suspect he would," Dumbledore agreed. Both the lion and the badger treated _him_ like a long-lost brother, snuggling up to him in apparent heartfelt glee.

"They're linked to the Founders, aren't they?" Harry said. "They like you because you're the Headmaster, and the Gryffindor lion likes Professor McGonagall because she's Head of house Gryffindor..." He frowned. "But I don't understand why the shield reacts to me so strongly."

"For much the same reason that both you and your father managed to open Godric's private study, I suspect," Dumbledore said.

"What?" Harry raised his head, confused.

"Harry... do you remember what I said to you, when you pulled the sword of Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat three years ago?"

"You said that only a true Gryffindor could have done it," he remembered.

"I did, and it is true. But not just a Gryffindor in name... a member of Godric's line, who embodied his ancestor's values."

That was enough to temporarily startle Ron out of his blankness. "You mean Harry's the heir of Gryffindor?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Not to my knowledge, although it's difficult to say. Godric had, I am told, a large number of children... and didn't keep track of them terribly well, even during his lifetime. No, the odds are very much against young Harry being the direct heir to the Gryffindor line - but, certainly, the Potters have a fair proportion of Gryffindor blood."

Harry considered that. "I thought that the wizarding families are all inter-related?"

"They are, to a great extent, but often by marriage only, and of course many wizards and witches along the line have married Muggles or magical folk from other countries. Godric's descendents were many, and there are still a good number of people in this country who carry some degree of Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff blood, but to my knowledge there are only a handful of individuals alive today who can claim more than one of the Founders as ancestors. And though you are not one of them, you do have a secondary connection of another sort."

"My link to Voldemort," Harry said grimly, touching his scar. He remembered the cryptic conversation he'd overheard in the hospital wing after his encounter with the Muscomens. "That was what you meant when you said I was doubly connected to what was going on?"

"Indeed." Dumbledore rubbed the Hufflepuff badger under its chin. "Hogwarts opens her secrets more readily to some than to others. I do not think it is quite coincidence that the first two items have revealed themselves to you."

"Does that mean you'll let us continue looking for the others?" Hermione butted in anxiously. He smiled.

"Quite how I would possibly stop you, Miss Granger, I couldn't imagine. But yes. Durand's original curse was designed to be solved by one person only. Though Bertram Adroganter is no longer with us for the enchantment to focus around, I believe it would likely be beneficial if the same person who solved the first clue be involved in the solving of the rest."

"Then we can look at the Ravenclaw common room?" Hermione pressed.

"The decision about that will be up to Professor Flitwick," Professor McGonagall said curtly, her lips a thin line as if she was not entirely sure of the wisdom of Dumbledore's suggestion. "This is really most irregular - I'm sure, Mr. Potter, you would be less than happy if we allowed Slytherin students to roam the Gryffindor common room just because they asked to - but given the special circumstances, perhaps he would be willing to allow you a quick examination of the area."

Professor Flitwick was not just willing, he was positively overenthusiastic. Harry suspected that the staff had been decidedly worried by their failure to find any more clues appearing since the one in the library, and were probably eager to feel like something useful was being done.

The Ravenclaws appeared confused to be chased out of the common room, but they obeyed their Head of House with a great deal less arguing and procrastination than the Gryffindors would probably have managed. Once they were all safely up in the dorms and there was no one left to see, the teachers let Harry, Ron and Hermione into the room.

The Ravenclaw common room was tastefully decorated in shades of blue and grey, and Harry wasn't surprised to see that it had many study tables and bookshelves. One of the walls, topped by a large house banner, was given over to photographs of Ravenclaw Prefects, Head Boys and Head Girls, and various certificates and awards that members of the house had won. Hermione seemed thoroughly enchanted.

"Well," said Professor McGonagall, folding her arms. "What next, Mr. Potter?" She had insisted on accompanying them, but Dumbledore had disappeared elsewhere, claiming that his presence would only excite undue interest.

"Hermione?" Harry asked.

She frowned thoughtfully for a moment. "I suppose the first thing to do is to check if the inscription is here but covered up by a charm. The same spell we used before ought to work."

"Exhibero veritas?" Harry checked, and Hermione nodded. Professor Flitwick bounced excitedly, looking rather impressed with their insight.

They worked in tandem, covering the room methodically. They didn't find anything - until Hermione lifted aside a long Ravenclaw banner with a spell, and Harry cast the revealing spell underneath it.

"_Exhibero Veritas!_"

Melting out of the stonework like ice-crystals forming, the words of another rhyming clue appeared. The teachers gasped, and Hermione stuck the banner to the wall, out of the way, with a quick "_Adhaereosum!_"

There was a pause while they all stopped to read.

> _An eagle eye will see you clear  
> When shadows dog your heels  
> Over a blue moon will appear  
> The path the hour reveals _
> 
> _When traced along the course it takes  
> The road meets a dead end  
> A study of mathematics makes  
> Two times your loyal friend _
> 
> _When six figures you come to meet  
> Abruptly turn about  
> The lady will reserve a seat  
> For those who have some clout _

Professor Flitwick looked disturbed. "I may have hidden the first two clues discovered... but I certainly did not cover this one."

"Who could have done this?" McGonagall asked anxiously.

"Cast the spell?" Flitwick frowned. "Any bright child above perhaps third year, I'm afraid. Miss Granger, no doubt, could have easily managed it in her second. As for who could have entered the common room-"

"Anyone at all," said Harry grimly. "If they had Polyjuice, or an Invisibility Cloak, or could cast the Imperius Curse..."

"Or even if they just had a friend in Ravenclaw," Hermione said, shaking her head.

"We need to copy this down-" Harry began, scrabbling for a quill, but Professor Flitwick simply levitated half a dozen sheets of parchment from a stack in the corner, and waved his wand.

"_Exscribere!_"

The poem appeared on all the sheets of paper, in exactly the same script as it was written on the wall.

"Wow," said Harry admiringly. "I could have done with that one before the OWLs!"

"The use of copying charms for academic purposes is frowned upon, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said sternly. "You will never learn as effectively from copying as you will from taking your own notes."

"Yes, Professor," he said, rather wearily.

Hermione was already frowning over her own copy of the rhyme. "'_Over_ a blue moon'?" she wondered. "That's a strange way to put it."

Harry nodded. "Wouldn't you normally say 'under'? Unless it's another bit of wordplay." He remembered that Ron had shown a surprising talent for disentangling some of the puns and anagrams in the earlier clues. "Hey, Ron-"

He paused, as he realised Ron wasn't paying them any attention, and hadn't been for some while. He was standing close to the wall of Ravenclaw triumphs, looking at the photographs. As the others all turned to look his way, he carefully unpinned one, and looked up.

"Professor Flitwick? Would it be okay if I took this?"

It was a picture of Penelope Clearwater - with Percy. The older Weasley boy was sitting rather bashfully reading a book in the corner of the picture, but kept sneaking little glances over the top of it whenever he thought the photo-Penelope wasn't looking. He looked much younger than Harry ever remembered him doing in life.

He felt rather sick, suddenly, and very very tired.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley," Professor Flitwick said softly. "You certainly may."

They replaced both the illusion and the banner, and left the common room rather quickly after that. None of them were able to feel very excited about their discovery any more.

* * *

Much later that night, when everyone else in their dorm was long asleep, Harry glimpsed a light through the hangings around Ron's bed, and heard him talking in a low voice to the photograph. Blinking hard against unshed tears, he pulled the covers over his head so the murmuring was inaudible, and willed himself into sleep.

When he finally succeeded, he dreamed of Sirius, telling him he was too late, if he didn't do something right _now_, he was going to be too late.

* * *

Ron was distracted and distant over the next few days. He was often late to class or missed meals entirely, and would go off walking by himself a lot. No one really knew what to say to him, including the teachers. Even Snape seemed disinclined to really rage at him, simply curtly ordering him into his chair when he arrived, with the contemptuous sneer that was Snape's version of restraint.

The following Wednesday, when Harry glimpsed Ron disappearing into the distance when he should be heading for Charms, he picked up his things and followed him.

This time, Ron's destination turned out to be the Owlery. There was no one else up there, and Harry hesitated in the doorway, wondering whether he should just leave again. Ron turned around and gave him a tight smile, seemingly not angry to know he'd been followed.

"Hi."

"Hey." Harry hovered awkwardly, and Ron quickly brushed a sleeve across his eyes.

"I'm sending an owl," he said, somewhat unnecessarily.

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to give that photograph to Penelope." He looked down at his bag, fumbling with the things inside it rather than look at Harry. "I mean, I was thinking. We've got-" He blinked fiercely. "We've got loads of photos of him at home, and I can- I can always ask mum to send me some anytime I want, and she hasn't- Penelope might not even have any-"

He broke off with a choked sound, and then covered his face with a hand and abruptly started to cry.

This was even more frightening than Hermione doing it, but Harry was almost grateful to have something where he had at least an idea of what to do. He crossed the Owlery and put his arms around his friend - rather awkwardly, because Ron was quite a bit taller than him, and seemed to be all ribs and elbows. Somehow they ended up sitting down amidst all the straw and feathers, Ron sobbing helplessly against his shoulder while Harry patted his back and looked up at the owls. Hedwig and Pig both flew down to hoot and flutter at the two boys, obviously aware that something was wrong though they couldn't comprehend what.

Eventually Ron managed to calm down a little, and scrubbed furiously at his eyes, breaths still hitching.

"You okay, Ron?" Harry asked softly. It was a stupid question, but Ron nodded shakily, and sat back. He too tilted his head back and looked up at the rows of owls.

"It's just..." he said, and shook his head. "I mean, you _hear_ about- the war, and everything, and you _know_ it's going on, but..." He breathed in, a great, shuddering gulp of air. "You never expect it to happen to anyone you know. And then when it _does_... you just never expect it could happen _again_..."

Harry nodded, and helped him stand up. "I know."

Ron turned to look at him, eyes still reddened, but full of determination. "This is it, isn't it? This is what we're doing this for. This is what we're all doing this for. Even people like Snape - he's a git, but he's _our_ git. It's our job now. We have to stop Voldemort, because no one else is going to."

His voice didn't even wobble at the name.

"Yeah," said Harry thickly. "That's why we're doing this." He briefly laced his fingers through Ron's, and they shared a moment of silent understanding.

Then Ron hurriedly disentangled himself, and started brushing straw and owl feathers off his robes, embarrassed. "If you tell Hermione about any of this, I'll kill you," he warned, ears pink.

Harry raised his hands placatingly. "I promise," he said.

* * *

They finally made it to Charms almost half an hour late. Nobody said anything.

* * *

The next day, Hermione was rather delayed in arriving for Potions. Snape was considerably less reasonable about it, deducting ten points from Gryffindor and subjecting her to a diatribe that suggested that if she found attending lessons so unnecessary, perhaps she should apply to take her NEWT right now, to save him the onerous duty of teaching her.

"Bad luck," Harry said, with a sympathetic wince, as she slid into the seat beside him.

In the first year Hermione might have been close to tears after a berating like that, but right now, she just smiled. "It's quite a relief, actually," she whispered. Harry stared at her. "I can't cope with Snape being considerate," she explained. "It feels like the end of the world."

"Miss Granger! Clearly you have lost your memory and sense of direction as well as your time-keeping skills. Next to Zabini, and do not think that you will be given any extra time to complete your Desanguinating Draught to make up for your tardiness."

Harry gave her an eyeroll that he made sure Snape didn't see, and she gathered her things and moved away. Fortunately, now that they were usually working on solo potions, Snape generally preferred to keep him entirely by himself rather than inflict miserable desk-mates on him.

He found himself contemplating Snape while he sorted through the tray of garnet stones for one of exactly the right weight. Hermione was right, he supposed - Snape _had_ been considerate towards Ron, or at least his version of it, which basically involved _not_ going out of his way to be obscenely unreasonable. And yet he didn't have the common decency to offer even insincere condolences... Was it a flicker of actual genuine compassion that motivated him, or just knowing that McGonagall would come down like a ton of bricks if he pushed Ron too far during his bereavement?

Harry was strongly inclined to believe the latter, although he supposed he shouldn't let himself. He couldn't afford to be childish now, and he couldn't afford to forget that however unpleasant he might be, Snape _was_ on their side. He might detest the man, but he had to learn to put up with him enough to work alongside him.

If only Snape didn't make it so bloody difficult.

"Potter! To the front. Kindly bring your Desanguinating Draught with you."

Harry gulped, swirled his potion once for good luck, and carried it up to the front of the class, wondering if he should have added a bit more marigold. Did it really qualify as 'golden red', or was it more of an amber?

Snape's dismissive sneer provided no clue as to whether the potion looked right. He turned and addressed the class. "As you should recall, but doubtless will not, the Desanguinating Draught is designed for use in medical situations where the patient is losing blood at a dangerous rate - for instance, if they have been hit by the Caedaeturnus Curse. Mr. Potter is about to demonstrate what happens when the draught is taken by a healthy-" Snape eyed him disparagingly, "-or at least non-bleeding - wizard. Hurry up, Potter."

Harry met Hermione's eyes in the crowd rather nervously. She looked anxious but forced a smile for him, so he assumed that whatever was about to happen might be unpleasant, but Snape at least wasn't trying to kill him.

He raised the draught to his lips- and almost dropped it as he felt a strange wriggling sensation against his finger. He looked down, and was alarmed to see that the ring he'd been wearing since Christmas had transformed itself back into its serpent form. "Not now!" he whispered urgently to it, and hastily switched hands, thrusting the one with the ring behind his back. Fortunately, everyone's attention was on Snape.

"...lethargy, weakness, and an unnatural pallor. _Now_, Potter. Unless you would prefer to test the draught under more... realistic... conditions?"

Harry blanched, and gulped the whole thing in one go. To his relief, he felt the snake ring solidify around his finger as he swallowed, turning back into an inconspicuous metal band.

The relief didn't last long. Abruptly, all the strength fled out of his body, and he collapsed to the floor. He could barely find the energy to raise his eyelids, and when he forced them open, he could see that the skin of the arm pressed against the flagstones in front of his face had turned pure white, blue veins stark against its surface. The pulse-beat rushing in his ears was frighteningly slow, and growing slower...

He was aware of voices shouting and of being shaken, but distantly, as if it was a memory of something that had happened long ago instead of immediate. Some kind of liquid was being forced into his mouth, but it simply dribbled out again - he couldn't even swallow.

A flare of red light enveloped him, and for a moment, he felt his heart thump strong and fast again. Then it faltered, and the momentary lease of strength flowed away from him.

So did everything else.


	20. Moonstones

"-ry. Harry?"

Hermione's worried face swam into focus, or as much of it as he ever got without his glasses. He tried to sit up, but she pushed him back.

"Don't try and get up, Harry. You're still very weak."

He tried to protest that, and found it more difficult than anticipated. "Wh'appened?" he managed to force out.

"Your potion went wrong. Well, actually, it didn't: it worked far too well. It must have been too strong, and you should never have drunk it all at once like that - Harry, what were you thinking? Professor Snape gave you the antidote, but you wouldn't swallow it, and when he used Vitalis to keep your heart going his wand wouldn't work properly... After that he literally picked you up and ran all the way to the hospital wing. You should have seen him, Harry, he was so worried - he must have thought he'd killed you!"

Harry's eyes must have communicated his disbelief.

Hermione pulled a face. "Well, all right, what he _said_ was that you'd nearly killed yourself with your own stupidity, but you could tell he felt guilty about it."

"Worried what Dumbledore would say if he killed me, more like," Harry rasped.

Hermione gave him a reproachful look, but apparently decided this was not the time to take him to task for it. She leaned closer. "Listen, Harry. I was doing some research into blue moons before Potions, and I found out-"

She shut up as Madam Pomfrey bustled into the room. The matron immediately tutted in aggressive dismay. "Out! Out. Was I not clear? I let you sit in to keep an eye on him because we're so busy, but you're not to harass the poor boy now he's awake. Out!"

Harry heaved a heavy sigh and lay back, knowing from far too many times' experience that there was no point arguing.

* * *

Truth to tell, he did feel exhausted and rather ill once Hermione had gone. He dozed off for a while, and didn't wake up until late evening when Dumbledore came in to see him.

"Ah, Harry. Feeling better?"

He blinked, and tried not to look half-asleep. "Yes, sir. When can I get out of here?"

The Headmaster smiled at him. "Not for a while yet, Mr. Potter, I'm afraid. Madam Pomfrey wishes to keep you under observation for at least another night. Injuries are becoming rather frequent under the current circumstances, and unfortunately our cures are no longer as reliable as we would wish."

Harry clenched his fists helplessly against the bedcovers. "But I should be out, doing things. Trying to solve the clues..."

"Time is, indeed, of the essence, Mr. Potter... but do not forget you have friends and allies to rally to your cause." He smiled enigmatically. "Incidentally, you should tell Miss Granger that she should look to your Potions lessons for the answer to her dilemma."

He turned away, as if dispensing this piece of impenetrable advice had covered his responsibilities. Harry suddenly felt a sharp stab of anger. "Professor - why didn't _you_ start looking for the clues to the Curse of Durand?" he demanded. "You said yourself it's easier for someone with a strong connection to the Founders and the secrets of the castle, and-"

"Do you understand, Harry, why Professor Snape's attempt to cure you failed so drastically earlier today?"

He curled his lip in irritated confusion at the abrupt change of subject. "Yes, it's because of the Thaumentors. They drain people's magic, and the more of it you have-" He stopped abruptly.

Dumbledore just gave him a slight smile, confirming his horrifying suspicion. "I must admit that so far, it has been an... educational experience, and one not entirely without merit." He left.

Harry lay back and stared at the ceiling, stunned. Even if he wasn't sure he could _trust_ Dumbledore any more, he had still believed in him absolutely - Dumbledore was the greatest wizard of their age, everyone knew that without question. And now...

Now, thanks to the Thaumentors, he was as helpless as the rest of them, perhaps even more so. Which meant that finding the solution to the Curse was truly on his own shoulders... and if he couldn't do it, there was no guarantee anyone else would be there to help him.

* * *

Ron and Neville came to see him later that evening, and they talked of nothing very consequential and played Exploding Snap until Madam Pomfrey angrily accused them of agitating her other patients. Apparently Hermione had exhausted her Harry visiting quota earlier in the day, and wouldn't be allowed back until tomorrow. Harry was grateful for the others' warm and undemanding company. Ron seemed to have come back to himself at last after the way he had been acting since the news of Percy's death, although there was still a distant and oddly mature look that settled over his face at moments.

Despite the disturbing revelation from Professor Dumbledore, Harry actually slept better than he had for a long time. He could almost feel grateful to Professor Snape for nearly killing him; the exhaustion from the effects of the Desanguinating Draught was enough to make him sleep the whole night through without a single hint of a bad dream.

He felt positively bouncy with energy by the next morning, but Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping him in all the way through Defence Against the Dark Arts and the first half of double Transfiguration. She finally, reluctantly let him go when Ron and Hermione came to see him at lunchtime, ordering him to go straight to bed and rest up over the weekend.

Instead, the three of them immediately got to work on solving the Ravenclaw clue.

"I did some research into blue moons." Hermione repeated her news of the day before. "It was the 'over' that was the clue: 'Over a blue moon will appear the path the hour reveals'. It's talking about moonstones, I think." She switched into her lecturing mode. "You see, it's actually technically incorrect to use 'once in a blue moon' to just mean 'never' or 'very rarely'. A blue moon is a genuine measure of time - one occurs every three seven-year lunar cycles, and that's when the very best blue moonstones are washed up."

"So we need to get hold of one of those?" Ron asked. "Where from?"

Hermione shrugged miserably, but Harry was remembering his weird conversation with the Headmaster. "Dumbledore said something about looking to our Potions lessons for the answer to your dilemma."

"Potions?" She looked puzzled, and then suddenly her face cleared. "Of course! We used powdered moonstones when we were making the Draught of Peace last year!"

"We did?" said Harry cluelessly.

"Yes. Professor Snape's bound to have some moonstones in his stores!"

"That's great, but how are we supposed to get them?" Ron asked.

"They're not restricted or anything," Hermione said. "We could just go down and get one out of the cupboard now."

"What if we run into Snape?"

"I'll tell him I dropped my quill yesterday when he was busy trying to kill me," Harry said.

"It was an accident, Harry," Hermione scolded. "And he saved your life!"

"Yeah, _after_ he endangered it." He rolled his eyes. "Come on. Let's see if he's there."

Fortunately, he was not, and they were able to 'liberate' one of the small, blue stones from his stocks without being seen. The moonstone had a bright white spot that shifted when they moved it, but it didn't seem to point anywhere.

"What do we do now?" Harry wondered.

Hermione looked uncertain. "I don't know - I think the stone is supposed to lead us somewhere. Maybe we should go outside?"

They did, but wandering around the grounds with the moonstone held up didn't help them very much. "We're missing something," Harry sighed.

"Maybe the key's in the next part of the clue," Ron suggested. He was unusually patient and focused; come to think of it, he had been that way in the last few lessons Harry had shared with him. He seemed to have made some kind of silent resolution to take things seriously - Harry was both heartened by it and saddened by the knowledge of exactly what had shaken his friend's careless childishness out of him.

"'Over a blue moon will appear the path the hour reveals'," Hermione recited. "Then the start of the next verse is: 'When traced along the course it takes, the road meets a dead end'. It's supposed to be showing us a path, but I don't see..."

"'The path the hour reveals'," Ron repeated. "What hour?"

Harry remembered the results of her research that Hermione had been over-eagerly babbling earlier. "How long did you say a blue moon is, Hermione?"

"Twenty-one-" She broke off, suddenly getting the same hunch he had.

"Nine o'clock!" said Harry triumphantly.

"Huh?" Ron, probably unfamiliar with the Muggle practise of using a twenty-four hour clock, didn't get it as quickly as they had.

"In the evening. The twenty-first hour of the day." Harry glanced at the two of them. "It's got to be worth a shot."

"Bring the Invisibility Cloak?" was all Hermione said.

* * *

They left the common room together, letting their housemates assume they were probably on their way to the library. Leaving the building after dark was strictly forbidden under current circumstances, so they used the Cloak to cover themselves before they left the building. It was extremely difficult to move without one of them yanking its cover away from the others now; on the one occasion where they had a near miss with a member of staff, a scowling Snape on patrol, there was nothing they could do but stand dead still and pray he didn't walk into them.

"We seriously need a bigger Cloak," said Ron, breathing out in relief once the Potions master was gone.

"I don't think they're meant to fit three full-grown adults," Hermione said. Harry had to blink at that. Even though he thought of himself as grown-up, it was profoundly weird to think of himself as being _a_ grown-up. He had a slightly nervous feeling that he really ought to be more mature by now. Or maybe everybody felt like this. Perhaps even Dumbledore woke up every morning having to remind himself that he wasn't twelve years old any more.

Actually, that might explain rather a lot about Dumbledore.

They shrugged off the suffocating confines of the Cloak when they were far enough from the buildings to go unseen, and Hermione checked her watch. "It's almost nine. Harry, have you got the moonstone?"

He dug it out of his pocket. "What am I supposed to do with it?"

"I don't know. See what happens when it hits the hour."

They stood around rather awkwardly, waiting for the last few minutes to pass. "Just as well they aren't patrolling outside too," Ron observed, looking around.

"The teachers are probably more nervous about the Thaumentors than we are," Hermione said. "They're no less helpless than us if they can't cast spells - and they're much bigger targets. Remember how the ones that were attacking Malfoy and Ron went straight after Professor McGonagall? They must home in on the strongest concentration of magic in... the area..." She stuttered to a halt.

"I really wish you hadn't said that, Hermione," Harry said tightly, after a short silence. They all scanned the skyline rather uneasily.

"Harry! It's time," Hermione said suddenly. He fumbled with the stone in his palm, and held it up above his head.

There was a brief pause.

"Okay, nothing's happ- yah!" Harry nearly dropped the thing as a brilliant line of blue-white light blazed out from the stone, like the beam of a lighthouse.

"Harry! You'll wake up the whole school!" Ron hissed.

"I can't help it!" he pointed out. He tried to smother the stone with the edge of his robes, but the light shone through the cloth undiminished.

"Quickly! Come on." Hermione led the way in a charge across the grass. Fortunately, the beam shortened as they followed it, almost disappearing entirely as they fetched up against a blank wall. Ron pressed and prodded it, but nothing happened.

"Is this the dead end?"

"I don't think so," Hermione said. "I think the beam goes right on through-"

"It might, but we can't," Harry reminded her.

She tugged the Cloak out of his hands. "Let me take this. I'll run in and find the other side of the wall where this goes through, and when I've found it I'll knock on the wall and you can follow me in."

"Okay."

They spent several long and nerve-wracking minutes waiting for the knock to come from inside. What if the beam didn't show through after all? What if Snape had doubled back and caught Hermione? What if the moonstone attracted the Thaumentors, and they were poised to swoop down on the two of them at all moment...?

There was a loud, dull knock on the other side of the wall. Harry went limp with relief, and knocked back. He couldn't tell if Hermione heard.

They headed for the nearest door and followed the corridor to roughly where they thought the beam had pointed. The moonstone was useless as soon as they got inside: the beam winked out, and Harry was equal parts dismayed and relieved. How would they know where to go now?

"Mmph!" Ron let out a muffled, startled sound ahead of him. A moment later, the shadows shimmered into Hermione, having covered his mouth with her hand while she was invisible.

"Sorry, Ron. I didn't want you to yell - Filch only just went by a few moments ago."

Harry thrust the blank moonstone at her. "It went out as soon as we got in the building. What do we do now?"

"I marked which way the beam was pointing." She indicated the ceiling with her wand, and Harry saw a trio of red crosses in a line.

"Good thinking," said Ron admiringly. Harry couldn't be sure in the dark, but he thought Hermione blushed.

They followed the corridor Hermione had marked until they came to another dead end. There were doors to either side; Harry peered through one while Hermione looked at the other.

"I think this is it, Harry. It looks like an old Arithmancy classroom."

"'A study of mathematics'," Ron said, remembering the poem.

They closed the door behind them, and were finally able to light their wands and see what they were doing. Harry pulled out his dog-eared copy of the poem and read it by wand-light. "'A study of mathematics makes two times your loyal friend'."

"Got to be another wordplay," said Ron. "Two times... mathematics."

"Look at this." Hermione was looking at the rear wall, which showed an eight-by-eight grid of squares, like a chess board. Instead of colours, however, they were marked with numbers. They didn't seem to be in any kind of logical order.

The two boys moved to join her. "What do we have to do?" Harry wondered.

"Well, this would be the logical place to start..." Hermione had located a square marked simply with the number one, and tapped it with her wand. Immediately, the entire grid shimmered and changed.

"Did that help?" Harry asked blankly.

"I think so... Now I need to find the two."

"Down there." Ron pointed.

"And four." Hermione found that one more quickly, getting into the rhythm of things.

"The six is there." Harry reached over, and Hermione urgently slapped his hand away.

"Ah-ah-ah. No. Two _times_." She touched the eight instead.

"Huh?"

"Trust me." She started prodding higher and higher numbers in bewilderingly quick succession: sixteen, thirty-two, sixty-four...

"How are you working these out so quickly?" Harry demanded.

"I do have a computer," she said absently.

"In your _head_?"

"No, at home, of course. But that's why I know the sequence. _Binary_, Harry," she said, as if this explained everything.

Ron glanced at him confusedly. "That has something to do with Astronomy, right?"

Harry just shrugged, and turned his attention back to the clue. _When six figures you come to meet, abruptly turn about. The lady will reserve a seat for those who have some clout._

"Are you at six figures yet?"

"Shh. I'm adding." The mental arithmetic was apparently becoming a bit more taxing, and Harry was extremely glad he hadn't had to work this out himself. Without a calculator to hand, it would probably have involved a good long time, plenty of rough paper and a lot of crossing out.

He supposed it figured that the Ravenclaw clue would involve a lot of calculating. When he was looking for the Gryffindor shield, he'd had to go creeping down into the dark alone; to enter the badger's den, he'd had to understand Helga Hufflepuff's standard of fairness. Somebody like Malfoy would never have been able to figure out the identity of Helga's heir, because it wouldn't occur to them that Squibs and illegitimate children even counted as people.

Each clue seemed to require something of the qualities of its house to find the solution to. He dreaded to think what the Slytherin one was going to be like.

"There!" Hermione triumphantly pressed the final square, and whirled around. They all followed her gaze to the blackboard and desk.

"Nothing's happening, Hermione," Ron pointed out.

_The lady will reserve a seat..._ "I think we might need to sit in the chair," Harry said.

"What, all of us?"

"I suppose." They squished together rather awkwardly, Hermione actually sitting down and the two boys perching on the arms of the chair.

"Now what?" asked Ron.

"Maybe 'those who have some clout' means... an actual clout?" Hermione suggested hesitantly. "Like, a physical blow?"

Feeling rather stupid, Harry thumped the edge of the desk. Nothing happened.

"Or a magical one?" said Ron. "How about _Reducto_?"

There was a moment of uncomfortable and embarrassing squirming as they all tried to free their wands without unbalancing the chair. "Ready?" said Harry. "One, two, three..."

"_Reducto!_"

He braced himself for the inevitable impact as they were blown back into the blackboard... and didn't feel it. Instead, the three of them, chair and all, were sent shooting down into a long, dark tunnel that reminded him rather of the vaults at Gringotts. They fetched up in a dimly lit, book-lined space, rather dazed.

Hermione was the first to recover, standing up to regard their surroundings with awe. "Just _look_ at these books!" she gasped. "Look, look, look - there's an Avogandro - and that _Bespelling Bewilderments_ \- is that a first edition? And there's a whole shelf of all those debunked texts on the theory of Kineomancy..."

Their book-loving friend might be in some kind of library-based heaven, but Harry had eyes for only one thing.

Or rather, one extremely important absence of a thing.

"Hermione." No break in the chatter. "_Hermione._"

"Hermione." The addition of Ron's low voice finally caught her attention.

Harry slowly raised his hand to point. "We're too late."

In the centre of the private library was a small stand with a wooden shape on top, rather like the part-mannequins shops sometimes used to display necklaces and things. Whatever it was supposed to be displaying, however, was not there. A remarkably fresh trail of footprints marked the way from the chair to the denuded stand.

Their enemy had beaten them to it.


	21. Slytherin Politics

It was a glum and rather deflated trio of Gryffindors who gathered together in the Room of Requirement the next day. Even Hermione hadn't had the heart to attempt to read her way through Rowena Ravenclaw's private library, although Harry didn't doubt she'd be sneaking back there someday soon. He wondered if the room would let her back in. Perhaps - she might not be a Ravenclaw in name, but she almost certainly had enough of the house's studious spirit to be approved. His own mind, however, was wholly occupied by the item that should have been in the room and wasn't.

"Do you think Voldemort's agent could have destroyed it?" Harry asked nervously.

Hermione shook her head. "This is old magic, Harry - complicated magic. It's all so interlinked that I think trying to destroy one of the items would be like trying to destroy the entire spell. You couldn't do it, any more than you could bring down that whole hedge outside with a single Pruning Charm."

"So he's just hidden it. Can we find it?" asked Ron. Strangely, he was the least disheartened of all of them, focusing completely on what to do _now_ instead of what they'd failed at already. Harry suspected it was helping him to have a problem that he _could_ find some kind of damage control for, instead of the horrible aching uselessness that descended after the death of someone you had never imagined not being there.

He knew all too well what that felt like.

"Find it how?" Hermione asked, shrugging. "We don't even know what to look for. 'An eagle eye will see you clear' - that could be just about anything. Without the clue to guide us, we're completely in the dark."

"So we've lost one of the items, and we can't get it back." Harry looked at her. "Is there any chance we can still defeat the Curse without it?"

Hermione was wide-eyed with worry. "I don't know, Harry. I'm sorry. There's just no way of knowing."

"Then we're just going to have to try." Ron leaned forward. "And make sure we don't lose the next one. When's the next clue, Hermione?"

"After the Easter holidays," she replied confidently. With everything that was happening, Harry had half forgotten they were even coming up. "Beltane - the first of May. If we're following the stations of the year, that's when the next one will appear."

"In the Slytherin common room," said Harry.

"We need to be there," said Ron. "However they managed to get to the clue in Ravenclaw before we did, we can't let them do it again."

"How can we get in, though?" asked Hermione.

"Simplest plans are the best," said Harry, after a long moment where no one could come up with anything. "I'll take the Invisibility Cloak, follow someone in, and hide in there overnight. You two can cover for me if anyone notices I'm gone."

Neither of them looked exactly thrilled with that plan - but they both knew they'd find little better.

"All right," agreed Ron. "You'll just have to make sure you don't get caught, or Snape'll take about a million points off."

"Well, if he does, maybe we should try telling _him_ the truth, too," suggested Hermione.

Ron rolled his eyes in a welcome flash of humour. "Hermione, I just suggested we should try that as a last resort sometimes. I don't think it's going to accomplish miracles."

Harry sat up and stretched, sighing. "Well... I suppose all we can do now is wait."

* * *

They waited.

The Easter holidays, which began the next week, were a much grimmer affair than Christmas had been. Everyone had been trapped in the castle too long now for even messages and parcels from home to lift flagging spirits, and the prospect of a big feast and giant chocolate eggs provided on Easter Sunday was marred by memories of the Death Eaters' holiday 'gift' at Christmas. There was no repeat performance, but that was almost worse - everyone was on edge the whole day, waiting for a shoe to drop that never did.

Harry himself spent much of the holiday in the library. With the more urgent business of solving the third clue over with, he'd finally remembered the odd behaviour of the Slytherin ring in his Potions lesson. The ring had never shifted back into its snake form without prompting before, and he was beginning to wonder if perhaps it had been something to do with his Desanguinating Draught. Hermione had said that Snape's charm to detect enchantments on the ring would not have exposed a spell that was only designed to react - so what if it was enchanted to warn about the presence of dangerous poisons?

"Were you trying to protect me?" he asked the little silver snake. It wriggled in his palm, but didn't seem to understand he had asked it a question.

The library proved to be surprisingly little help. Every Potions book he picked up had whole chapters on poisons to wade through, and none of them seemed to hold anything very useful. It was all about cures and nullification - odd as it seemed to Harry, nobody seemed to have devoted much time to the extremely sensible idea of finding out something was poisonous _before_ you ate or drank it.

He would have given a lot to have Hermione's assistance, but that would have meant explaining that he'd been wearing the ring since Christmas without understanding what it did, and he could picture the expression on her face. Instead, he'd claimed to be doing extra research to keep ahead in Potions, a project that she completely applauded and Ron seemed less inclined than usual to term him insane for.

He was just flicking through _Protective Precautions for the Prudent Practitioner_ \- a tome that made Mad-Eye Moody look positively naïve and careless - when he heard voices coming through from the next section.

Slytherin voices, to be exact: one of them extremely familiar.

"You're an idiot, Ferus, if you think you can go against me and get away with it," came Malfoy's leisurely drawl.

"You're not so powerful now, _Draco_," grunted Maynard Ferus. "Your precious daddy's in Azkaban, and the Dark Lord isn't exactly making an effort to get him out, is he?"

"The Dark Lord rewards his faithful servants."

"Malfoys aren't faithful to anyone but themselves. Your time is over, Draco. The Slytherins don't listen to you any more... and they don't like feeling like their leaders have left them in the lurch. By the end of the year, your little gang will have no one left to support it."

Harry shifted in his seat, fascinated. What was going on here? Some kind of in-house power struggle? Was Ferus the fanatic who had activated the Curse of Durand to solve Voldemort's ends? Or was it Malfoy, making a desperate grab for power now that his father's influence wasn't enough to win him a place in the Death Eaters' inner circle?

"I have the Dark Lord's favour," Malfoy said coolly. "If you go against me, you go against him. Are you intending to try it?"

There was a sullen silence, and then footsteps as Ferus turned and stormed away. Harry carefully slid out of his chair. It sounded like Malfoy was the one who was in with Voldemort - which meant that there was a chance he had the stolen Ravenclaw item stashed away somewhere. Harry resolved to follow him, sure that if he had it, sooner or later he would visit its hiding place, unable to resist gloating.

He trailed Malfoy out of the library, wishing he'd thought to bring his Invisibility Cloak with him. Fortunately, the Slytherin seemed to be oblivious to anything around him, making his way towards the Owlery with angry clomping footsteps. "Maestus!" he called, barking at the owl as if it was a servant rather than a pet. "I need you to take a message to Father."

Harry stiffened. Lucius Malfoy? Was he free, then? Had Voldemort broken him out of Azkaban without anyone's knowledge? What about the rest of the captured Death Eaters?

He needed to see that letter. But how? He couldn't creep close enough without being seen, and if Malfoy suddenly found himself under attack, he'd just destroy it or send the owl out before Harry had a chance to grab it.

The Floating Eye Charm! If he could cast that and use it to see through the eyes of one of the owls... Harry risked extending a hand and making a soft sound with his tongue, and a handsome tawny owl flapped over to investigate. Fortunately, in the mess of shuffling and flapping owls, Malfoy ignored the movement.

Harry pressed the wand against the left lens of his glasses, closing his eyes. "_Spectare Locus!_" he whispered. With a quick mental apology, he then touched his wand to the top of the bird's head. "_Conspectus Missere!_" He launched the bird into the air with his hands, and opened his eyes.

For a brief, triumphant moment, he could see the inside of the Owlery layered over his own vision, but in a strangely bulged and colour-distorted manner. As the owl flapped past Malfoy he was able to take a very quick glimpse of the start of the letter: _Father; I have been making arrangements to further our Lord's plans-_

And then the world went supernova, his eyes felt like they were imploding, and Harry slumped down against the flagstones in welcome unconsciousness.

* * *

Harry awoke to find Professor Snape leaning over him, a face that ranked only slightly lower than Voldemort's on the list of images he didn't want to wake up to. He jerked back with a startled yelp, almost causing the Potions master to drop the dose of purple goop he'd apparently been about to force-feed down Harry's throat.

"Idiot boy," he said with a scowl. "You were warned about wandering the castle alone, but of course, the rules do not apply to Gryffindor's sainted hero. Sadly for the sake of peace and discipline at Hogwarts, Mr. Carmichael found you unconscious halfway down the Owlery steps, and for some strange reason considered this cause for alarm."

"Malfoy didn't send for anyone?" Harry demanded, mouth open. There was no way Draco could have missed his collapse - he would have had to step over Harry's prone form to go back downstairs, and he must have heard the commotion as he fell. Of course, it would be just like the vicious little git to leave him there unconscious.

"Quiet, Potter, I have no desire to remain here playing nursemaid to you. Quite why Madam Pomfrey felt that your case required me to hurry away from my work and bring you a restorative that could equally have been administered tomorrow morning, I cannot imagine. But I am here, and you will shut up and be cured! Now, open your mouth!"

Harry hastily twisted his head away like his cousin Dudley as a toddler, refusing any food that looked like it might have passing acquaintance with a nutrient. "No, sir! I mean- it wasn't the Thaumentors, Professor. I cast a spell-"

Snape lowered the purple mixture, and narrowed his eyes. "Of course. How like the great Harry Potter to injure himself through his own stupidity. What were you doing, Potter? Trying to fly?"

Harry scowled. What did Snape think, he was some kind of idiot who practised dangerous charms alone at the tops of towers just for the fun of it? "I was following Malfoy! I saw him getting ready to send a letter to his father, and I wanted to try and read it, so I cast the Floating Eye Charm on one of the owls-"

"Imbecile!" Snape's face, which had grown rather taut and intent when he mentioned Lucius Malfoy, went purple. "Surely, surely even _you_ cannot be idiotic enough to have ignored the countless warnings never to try to take over a living creature's mind? Clearly, such considerations as the fact that possession of any sort is classified as borderline Dark magic do not concern you, but one would think that the chance of turning yourself into an even greater gibbering fool than you are already would give you a few seconds' pause."

"I was only trying to see through its eyes," Harry protested weakly.

"The eyes are connected to the brain, you moronic child! Except, perhaps, in your case, where said organ appears to be conspicuous by its absence. The Floating Eye Charm was never designed to be used on a living creature - a fact that, one would think, could be easily inferred from the usage implied by its name. You have only your shamefully weak constitution to thank for the fact that the spell terminated before it could do permanent brain damage. Not, of course, that anyone would be able to tell the difference!"

Harry almost retorted that his constitution was only weakened as it was thanks to Snape nearly killing him with the Desanguinating Draught, but realised that it really wouldn't help his case much. He had the sinking feeling that he had, in fact, done something rather stupid.

"I didn't know," he said miserably, instead.

Snape's eyes glittered. "Obviously not. And yet, once again, the fates conspire to shield Gryffindors from the consequences of their own stupidity." He stood up.

"Wait! Er, Professor." Harry felt compelled to babble out his reasons for trying such a risky spell. "It might be important: Malfoy was sending a letter to his father, and it said something about him - er, Draco - making arrangements to further Voldemort's plans."

Snape flinched slightly at the name, but did not immediately chastise him for it, listening to what he had to say. Harry struggled to remember what else he'd witnessed behind the shooting pains that were beginning to blossom all the way through the inside of his skull.

"Um, Malfoy had just come from the library. He was having some sort of argument with Maynard Ferus from the fifth year. It sounded like Ferus was challenging his power because Mr. Malfoy is in Azkaban." Harry paused. "Or, at least, Ferus must think so, but if Malfoy's sending him letters, then..." He trailed off.

Snape inclined his head slightly. "Well, that is... interesting information," he conceded. He smiled slightly, a sight that Harry would rather not have witnessed in any state of health, let alone when he was this nauseous. "So interesting, in fact, that the business of brewing a cure for the severe head pains you are most likely now experiencing will sadly have to wait for a more opportune time."

He turned in a swirl of dark robes, and stalked away before Harry could muster a voice to protest. His brain feeling like it was exploding, Harry fell back against the pillows with a whimper.

* * *

Hermione was, if anything, even more horrified than Snape at what he'd attempted.

"I didn't _know_!" Harry groaned for what felt like the hundredth time. No one had told him that trying to see through an animal's eyes counted as trying to possess it! No one had told him that the Floating Eye Charm couldn't be used that way. "I wouldn't have tried it if I'd known it was that dangerous!"

"Seriously, Harry, you could have been _killed_! Or worse! There have been dozens of recorded cases of wizards losing their minds after overloading their brains with too much sensory information."

"I was only viewing it through my glasses, I could have closed my eyes," he insisted. Hermione's lip was trembling, the way it did when she was horribly upset and possibly about to start launching herself at people and hugging or sobbing on them. "And anyway, I did get to see the beginning of Malfoy's letter," he continued hastily. "He was definitely writing to his father. Voldemort must have freed him from Azkaban."

"What about the rest of the Death Eaters?" wondered Ron.

"They could _all_ be free," Hermione said darkly. "For all we know, Azkaban could have been taken over by the Death Eaters. We're cut off from the rest of the world - the teachers could easily have kept the news from the students to stop people panicking."

Harry glowered. "Yeah, that sounds like their style. Keeping us in the dark, as usual."

Hermione shook her head at him. "Really, Harry, even if they were, it's not such a terrible idea. Hearing about something like that would only make people more worried than ever, and we're all just as trapped as each other. What good would it do you to hear about what the Death Eaters are up to when you can't do a thing about it? It's only going to make you more frustrated than ever."

Harry supposed she was right. It was small consolation.

* * *

Much to his dismay, Harry was confined to the hospital wing for the remaining days of the Easter holidays. Professor Snape eventually _did_ make good on his taunting promise of a headache cure, but it only lasted for about six hours at a time, and the nights in particular were just awful. It wasn't like the sharp, focused pain he got from the scar on his forehead, but sudden crippling flares of agony that distorted his vision. Madam Pomfrey assured him that the head pains would fade away, but they were taking their own sweet time about it.

On the Thursday Draco Malfoy entered the hospital wing, ostensibly for a 'sprained wrist' from practising Quidditch.

"Spying on me, Potter?" he snarled, when Madam Pomfrey had bustled off to the store cupboard. "Pity you're so incompetent you can't even do that without knocking yourself out."

"Still relying on your daddy to get you out of trouble?" Harry taunted. "Tell me, what are you going to do when he gets caught _again_ and the Aurors exterminate him like the vermin that he is? Oh, but wait, you'll probably already have been killed by your own side by then. Voldemort doesn't have any patience for losers."

Malfoy's lips thinned. "And you'd know all about that, wouldn't you Potter? Did the Dark Lord _actually_ kill your parents, or did your Mudblood mother trip and crack her own head open like you did?"

Harry just sneered at him as Madam Pomfrey returned. Insults he would have leapt into action over two years ago just seemed weak and puerile to him now. Malfoy didn't know a thing about real danger; he was just a stupid little boy, throwing around naughty words like a toddler copying their parents' swearing. It was pathetic.

Draco Malfoy was, in the scheme of things, a very little fish. And when it came to Harry's list of enemies these days, he didn't even make the footnotes.


	22. Midnight Meetings

Harry was finally allowed to return to Gryffindor Tower the Friday afternoon before the summer term began. Instead of having two last days of freedom, though, he was forced to spend most of the time catching up on homework. He'd had plenty of spare time while he was in the hospital wing, but the headaches had made the prospect of reading and writing just too hard to face.

That was why he was one of the few people still up and working on Saturday night when they received a late night visit from Dobby.

"Harry Potter, sir! Dobby is bringing a message from the Headmaster, sir!"

Harry sat up, and smiled at the house-elf's enthusiasm. "Hello, Dobby." He was wearing the usual assortment of randomly matched clothes, including what looked like a comedy pirate hat that had probably come out of the Christmas crackers months ago. "What did Professor Dumbledore say?"

"Professor Dumbledore is asking for Harry Potter to come and see him in his office, sir. He is telling Dobby to tell Harry Potter that the password is 'Pepper Imps'. Professor Dumbledore is a great man, sir, trusting his private passwords to a mere house-elf!"

"He wants me to come now?" Harry said in surprise. It was already well after dark, and the restrictions on wandering the castle alone were still in place.

"With all haste, he is saying, sir." Dobby wrung his hands. "And Dobby is almost forgetting - he is saying that Harry Potter must not go alone."

"I'll bring Ron and Hermione, then," he decided. "Actually, Dobby, can you fetch Hermione for me? She's in the girls dorms."

Dobby was happy to oblige, and Hermione came down, trailed by Ginny Weasley. Harry didn't have the heart to exclude her from the expedition, and threw up his hands in defeat.

"Oh, let's all go. I'll get Ron and Neville too. Everybody here's proved they can be trusted."

The five of them trooped down to Dumbledore's office, hoping they wouldn't meet Filch along the way, since Harry wasn't _exactly_ sure the invitation could be stretched to four companions. However, when he spoke the password and let them all in to the office area, the Headmaster only smiled at them all.

"A wise choice of companions, Mr. Potter," he noted.

"That's a matter of opinion," said Snape nastily. Neville flinched a little, but Harry couldn't blame him - he hadn't seen the Potions master lurking in the shadows, either. A few moments later Professor McGonagall came in to join them, and Dumbledore closed the door.

"I have called this meeting thanks to some useful information Mr. Potter supplied to us last week," he said without further preamble. "It emerges that there was, indeed, an effort to break several Death Eaters out of Azkaban six days ago." The Gryffindors all grimaced or murmured in dismay, but Snape did not react to the news. "It appears that several Aurors had been put under the Imperius Curse, and prisoners were being smuggled out one by one over a period of days or perhaps even weeks.

"So the Dementors still control Azkaban, then?" Ron asked grimly.

"For the moment," Dumbledore agreed. "Although, alas, I fear their ultimate allegiance is still a matter of some question."

"Did they all get out?" asked Harry. "The Death Eaters, I mean?"

"Many of Voldemort's closest followers, unfortunately, yes."

"Bellatrix Lestrange?" Neville wore a very intent and rather cold expression that Harry had never seen on him before.

Dumbledore inclined his head in a slight nod. "We believe, based on their respective positions in Voldemort's favour, that Bellatrix and Lucius Malfoy were probably the first two prisoners to be released. Our agents were able to locate the place where the Death Eaters were temporarily housed to recover before returning to their master's side, and there was a confrontation."

Harry's stomach lurched, and he couldn't look at Ron or Ginny. "Was anyone hurt?"

"Elphias Doge was, sadly, killed during the battle, as were two of the Death Eaters." Dumbledore managed to look equally sad for both of these losses, but Harry couldn't find it in himself to be very sympathetic to anyone who willingly followed Voldemort.

"Malfoy?" Ron asked sharply.

"From what I can gather from the reports, there is no evidence that he was even there. It is likely that he had already left to return to Voldemort's side before the fighting took place."

"Who were the two men killed?" Hermione spoke up a little shakily.

"Macnair and Goyle," Snape answered bluntly, catching Harry by surprise; he'd expecting him to continue lurking in silent disapproval.

"Poor Gregory," said Neville quietly. Ron and Ginny exchanged a solemn glance.

"Indeed." The Potions master looked at Dumbledore. "You realise what this will do to the tensions in Slytherin house when I break the news?"

Dumbledore suddenly looked rather old. "I do," he admitted. "I fear, alas, that the time for hoping to maintain neutrality is long behind us." Snape scowled at this, but didn't comment.

"And the injuries, Albus?" McGonagall asked warily. "Was anyone else but Doge hurt in the conflict?"

"Only two with any seriousness: Hestia Jones, and Remus Lupin."

A wordless sound of dismay arose from several throats at once. Snape sneered.

"Spare your touching concern for the true human beings - your werewolf friend will be free to run amok in an indecently short length of time despite his shameful carelessness."

"_Severus_," said McGonagall, eyebrows lowered warningly.

Dumbledore raised a calming hand. "Quite, quite. However, Severus is correct in one particular; Mr. Lupin has recovered from many more serious injuries in his time, and will likely be back on his feet in no time." Harry breathed out in relief.

"What about Hestia Jones?" asked Ginny. Dumbledore's expression grew more grave.

"Alas, her condition is considerably more serious. She was hit by a particularly bad instance of the Cruciatus Curse, and is currently receiving treatment in St. Mungo's."

Harry looked sideways at Neville, who seemed to tremble slightly, but stayed firm. "Is she responding to the Deconvulsing Draught?" he asked.

Both naturally and oddly, it was Snape who replied. He spoke in the abrupt, detached manner that was about as close as he got to a civil tone. "It's early to say, but a partial recovery at least seems likely. Jones was not under the spell for a prolonged period of time, and the Aurors on scene had the sense to have her Apparated out immediately."

Neville nodded. "That's good," he said sincerely, without the slightest trace of jealousy or resentment.

Harry cleared his throat, uncomfortable, not least with the thought that he would probably never have been half as gallant and unselfish in Neville's situation. "Er... what's our next move?"

"_Your_ move, Potter, is to do as you're told and attempt to keep out of trouble, if such behaviour is conceivable for you." Snape's dark eyes flashed.

Harry turned to him. "Professor, can you tell what the Death Eaters were up to?"

He honestly meant it as a neutral question, but Snape reacted as if it was a snarled attack. Harry jerked back instinctively as the Potions master raised his arm - but then Snape simply yanked back the sleeve.

The Dark Mark was completely gone.

Harry gaped. "You're not connected to Voldemort any more?"

"It appears that whatever pocket of space the Curse of Durand has isolated us in, the particular binding magic that Voldemort uses to keep track of his followers cannot penetrate it," Dumbledore explained. "Of course, there are other ways of passing information, but they depend on those outside deciding that anyone trapped inside the Curse would have any need to know."

"Oh." Harry thought about it for a moment, then smiled tentatively. "Well, surely that means Voldemort can't really be that powerful, then?" Of course, it had its downside, too - even if Malfoy or any other student was already marked as a Death Eater, they wouldn't be able to see the Dark Mark while the Curse was still effect. He touched his own scar, remembering the headache that he'd thought after the fact had been Voldemort in action. Had he been wrong? "What about me? Am I cut off too?"

"Your case is, of course, more complicated," Dumbledore said. "The properties of curse scars are not entirely understood, and certainly the bond between you and Voldemort is deeper and less part of the conscious mind than the Dark Mark. I believe that the link between you is not closed completely - for, if it were, I think the scar on your forehead would fade or even vanish - but certainly it is diminished."

"Is that why I didn't have to restart my Occlumency lessons this year?"

"Partly. But also because, in the current circumstances, I felt it would be dangerous for you and Severus both to continue. With the strength of all magic within the castle fluctuating quite severely, it would be risky indeed to attempt such exercises of power without the focusing element of a wand."

Harry was glad he made no mention of the disastrous way the lessons had been terminated last year, although it was clear from the sharpening of Snape's glare that _he_ had not for a moment forgotten.

"How goes your own quest, Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore neatly deflected the tension. "Have you been able to decipher the meaning of the Ravenclaw verse?"

He mentally groaned. "Yes, sir, but... the item was already gone."

"Gone?" McGonagall asked sharply.

"We think that... Voldemort... must have an agent inside the castle," Hermione explained. "Someone fanatical enough to be willing to be stuck inside with the rest of us by preventing anyone from lifting the Curse."

"I thought it might be Malfoy, but now I'm less sure," Harry admitted. "If Voldemort's making moves to free his father from Azkaban, then he doesn't need to do anything desperate to try and preserve his position."

"Malfoys of all generations are rarely self-sacrificing sorts," Snape put in dispassionately.

The Gryffindor students all looked rather surprised at that bald statement - perhaps reassessing the Slytherin Head of House's favouritism towards Draco. Harry himself didn't know what to think. Maybe Snape's apparent bias in support of his Slytherins _was_ feigned as a part of his act, but Harry was pretty sure the corresponding hatred towards house Gryffindor was only too real. Surely nobody could be _that_ venomous unless they really meant it?

Professor McGonagall looked to the Headmaster. "Albus, surely it would be wise for us to take a more active part in the pursuit to the solution of the Curse...?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I fear not. The Curse was originally designed to imprint upon a single individual - Bertram Adroganter - and there is a strong danger that should the teaching staff, particularly myself, become too involved in the solution, the enchantment would recognise their position of authority and latch onto them as the only person who would be permitted to lift the Curse. And that would... not be wise."

"Why not?" asked Ginny with a frown. "Surely _any_ of you would be better for the spell to imprint on than Harry. Er, no offence, Harry," she added hastily. Harry didn't quite get a quick enough look to be sure, but he could have sworn Snape's lips twitched in amusement.

"It's because the solution means going into the maze, isn't it?" Hermione was quickest to put things together.

The Headmaster nodded gravely. "Sometimes our strengths are also our weaknesses," he said, rather enigmatically. Fortunately, Harry thought he understood what Dumbledore was talking about. That had to be why the Headmaster had risked letting the children come back at all - they couldn't afford to lose Hogwarts, and if they relied on adults as soaked in magic as the teachers must be to solve the puzzle, they might never get past the Thaumentors.

Besides, with the way things were in the outside world, the students might very well be safer trapped in the school for the year - provided they were released at the end of it.

Dumbledore was gambling a hell of a lot on Harry being able to break the curse. "So you want me to be the one the spell imprints on, because I have a bit of a link to the Founders, but I'm not so magically strong that the Thaumentors would consider me a huge target?" he said.

Snape sneered at this assessment. Harry frowned, a thought striking him.

"If the Curse _has_ imprinted on me, or partially imprinted on me, then how come Voldemort's agent was able to take the Ravenclaw item? I mean, shouldn't only I be able to find it?"

Dumbledore smiled faintly. "Durand was, of course, an intelligent enough man to realise that there was at least _one_ other person who required access to the spell's workings."

"Himself," Neville realised.

"Or in our case, whoever set off the Curse in the first place," Ron added.

"And he's already got one of them," said Ginny worriedly. "Can you still end the Curse without it?"

"I think so," said Hermione firmly. "'An eagle eye will see you clear'... I think the Ravenclaw item is a guide. 'Hard work will end what plot begins' - that has to mean that the Slytherin item will let us in to the maze, and the Hufflepuff item is used at the end of it. So we can't possibly do without either of those items, but we may be able to muddle through without the others."

"We'd better make sure we get to the Slytherin item before he does, then," said Ron.

"You know when and where the fourth clue is likely to appear?" McGonagall asked.

Harry just nodded. He didn't think it was particularly wise to mention to Snape his plans to infiltrate the Slytherin common room.

"We'll be ready for it this time," said Hermione.

"Good, good." Dumbledore clapped his hands. "And now, I think, our young friends should be getting back to their dormitories. Professor McGonagall, if you would be kind enough to provide an escort...?"

"Of course, Professor," she agreed with a nod.

Harry found himself momentarily hanging back beside Snape as they filed out, and against his better judgement had to speak. "Professor... do you even _want_ to help us get out? I mean, wouldn't it be better for you if we just stayed trapped in Hogwarts and you never had to serve Voldemort again?"

Snape pinned him with an extremely sharp glance. "_Some_ of us, Potter, have a sense of duty," he said icily.

Harry didn't dare press the point any further.

* * *

They stumbled into the darkened Gryffindor common room, yawning heavily. Harry saw, to his momentary confusion, that a number of steaming mugs had been set out on a tray.

"Butterbeer!" said Ron, almost worshipfully.

Harry realised the likely culprit. "Dobby, you're a marvel," he said aloud, and reached for the nearest mug.

And froze, as the snake ring suddenly wriggled off his finger, turning from silver to black as it touched the liquid within with a twist of its tail.

"Don't drink it!" he yelped urgently, knocking the mug out of Neville's hand. It hit the floor and bounced along the flagstones. There was a hiss, and the surface stone started to corrode.

Ron, standing with his own mug to his lips, put it down very slowly. Harry breathed out in relief when he saw that neither of the girls had started to drink.

Neville had gone wide-eyed. "Poison?" he squeaked in alarm.

"Malfoy," Harry realised grimly. "In revenge for me spying on him."

"Him, or Voldemort's agent in the castle," Hermione agreed. She cautiously nudged the fallen mug with her toe. The puddle of 'Butterbeer' was no longer hissing, but it had left quite a nasty scar on the stonework.

"If we'd drunk any of that, we wouldn't have had time to call for help," Ginny said weakly.

Ron was still looking shell-shocked from his near brush with death. "Tell Moody that whatever he paid for that ring, it was worth it!" he said, with feeling.

"Actually, I didn't get it from Moody," Harry had to reluctantly admit.

Hermione frowned. "Harry-?"

"I found it in Gryffindor's study," he mumbled.

"Harry!" Ron and Hermione yelled in horrified stereo.

"It's safe, isn't it?" he retorted defensively. "Anyway, you _saw_ Snape check it for enchantments in that Potions class." He wondered, belatedly, if Snape hadn't actually been surreptitiously testing him for some kind of Death Eater curse.

"_Active_ enchantments, Harry, it could have been programmed to react to _anything_!" Hermione yelped.

"Well, as it turns out it reacts to poisons, so I'm pretty lucky I picked it up," he retorted, effectively ending that line of conversation.

He knew she was right, though, and a worm of guilt coiled its way through the defensive layer of self-righteousness. When was he ever going to start _thinking_? He should have shown it to Hermione right away and had her help him test it thoroughly. Then he might even have known it was a poison-detector in time to save himself from drinking that Desanguinating Draught.

"We should take it to Snape," Ron said suddenly.

"The ring?" Harry blinked at him, befuddled.

"No... this stuff." He indicated the mugs with a sweep of his hand. "He must be able to tell us what kind of poison it is."

Neville checked the time, and blanched. "Er... do we really want to go and get him out of bed?"

They considered the prospect of stomping down to the dungeons and rousing a sleeping Snape.

"I'll go and get some vials to pour these into so nobody tries to drink them in the morning," Hermione decided quickly.

"Good idea."

Facing the idea of having nearly died from a stomach-corroding assassination attempt was one thing. Deliberately waking Snape up when he'd probably only just got in bed was quite another.


	23. Potions, Poisons and Plots

After some discussion, Harry ended up taking the poison to Snape by himself. If forced to come up with a plausible reason for hanging about, he could rely on the 'remedial Potions' excuse he'd used the previous year: no doubt Malfoy had wasted no time in spreading around the fact that the entry requirements this year had been adjusted just so Harry Potter could take the class.

Besides, on a slightly less self-sacrificing note, he didn't want to run the risk of conflicting cover stories; he'd prefer not to let Snape know about the ring, if he could possibly avoid it. The Potions master might very well confiscate it, claiming Harry had been using it to cheat on his practical work in class.

To his relief, Snape was at work on something in the classroom, despite the fact that it was fairly early on a Sunday morning. Harry shuddered at the thought of having to fetch him out of his personal quarters. Although at least that would have been an excuse for strategic cowardice, since he didn't have the slightest clue where Snape actually lived.

He steeled himself, and knocked softly on the doorframe to introduce himself. "Professor Snape?"

"What is it, Potter?" he scowled imperiously, somehow managing to exude the expectation that Harry must have done something stupid without saying a word.

He stepped inside and closed the door, winning himself a cynically raised eyebrow for his efforts.

"Hardly necessary, Potter, your ineptitude at Potions is a matter of public record."

Harry forced himself not to get his hackles up. He needed Snape's help after all. "Yes, sir. Which is why I need to ask you to have a look at this for me." He produced the vials of poisoned Butterbeer that Hermione had charmed against corrosion. "Somebody tried to poison me last night. After I got in from, well, er, you know."

"I have no interest in whatever sordid liaisons you may have been engaged in last night," Snape said perfunctorily. Harry tensed in disbelief, but then reminded himself that the Potions master could hardly admit to having been in a top secret meeting with Dumbledore and several Gryffindors the previous evening. Whether or not the walls had ears, any passing Slytherins certainly did.

He placed the vials on the nearest workbench. "It's Butterbeer, or at least charmed to look like it. The mugs were left out in the Gryffindor common room late at night when we got back. We almost drank it before we found out it was corrosive."

Snape's expression was loaded with condescension. "I see. And of course, it did not occur to you for one moment that the mysterious appearance of unrequested beverages was cause for suspicion?"

"I thought it was Dobby!" he defended himself. "Er, the house-elf," he added hastily, realising his justification was otherwise incomprehensible.

"Ah. So the famous Harry Potter has his own private system of meal delivery. Tell me, Potter, are you in the habit of diverting the castle's domestic staff from their duties in order to tend to your personal needs?"

Harry gritted his teeth, and reminded himself that he needed Snape's help. "No, sir," he grated.

"I see. You simply automatically assumed that any deviation from the usual routine was a spontaneous effort for your benefit." Snape's eyes gleamed nastily. "Quite how you have managed to live this long remains a disturbing mystery. Fetch one of the school cauldrons. I have more important matters to attend to this morning than your regrettable escape from gruesome death, so you will have to perform the tests yourself - assuming, of course, you can overcome your usual aversion to following instructions."

Repeating doggedly to himself that there was no way he could do this without Snape's expertise, Harry stomped off to get himself a cauldron.

* * *

Harry found, to his surprise, that it was much easier to concentrate under Snape's unimpressed eye when it was just the two of them, and the work was actually something relevant and important. He made several different test solutions without a hitch, and felt a surprising glow of self-satisfaction when adding them to samples of the poison produced enlightening colours.

"This one's turned green, Professor," he called, after another successful test.

"Lobalug venom," said Snape with a nod, as if he'd been expecting it. "A strictly controlled substance, but not enough to produce the effects you describe on its own without the addition of a separate corroding agent. To prevent adverse reaction with the other ingredients, it would have to be vaporous while the potion was under heat and only become liquid during the cooling stage. It's extremely unlikely that the poison was brewed within the school - only my private laboratory would be sufficiently equipped to handle the fumes."

Snape was almost civil when he was working rather than teaching. Not that he was _pleasant_, of course, but he was at least too wrapped up what he was doing to dispense more than cursory insults. If Harry worked under the assumption that 'idiot boy' was a default form of address rather than an actual response to anything he'd done, Snape was being about as reasonable as he got.

"What's the next test, Professor?" he asked.

Snape, who had finished his own potion by now, rose from his desk and left the room. He returned a few moments later, to Harry's horror, with a rat in a cage.

"You want me to poison that rat?" he exclaimed, voice cracking in an embarrassing way it hadn't for months now.

The Potions master's gaze was cold. "The only way to truly gauge the effects of a poison and hope to cure or contain it is to monitor its exact effects on a living being." His lip curled. "Naturally, the sainted Harry Potter is not expected to get his hands dirty in the course of saving his own life. Hand me the poisoned Butterbeer, Potter."

Harry squirmed, but did as ordered. He watched the rat twitch its nose as Snape opened the cage. _It's only a rat,_ he thought, deliberately. It didn't help. It looked a little like Peter Pettigrew's Animagus form, but that didn't make him feel any better about it either.

He watched Snape's deft fingers lift out the animal's food tray, and wondered how often the Potions master did things like this. He suspected, though he had no proof, that in his job as a spy Snape was sometimes called up to brew horrible things at Voldemort's request. Did he test those too? Worse, did he stand by and watch while they were used on human victims? How much innocent blood did Snape have on his hands - and how much of it was put there in the name of doing service to the 'greater good'?

Harry felt a sudden and wholly unexpected wave of miserable sympathy. He often felt used, like Dumbledore's tool - how much worse would it be if he was forced to actively hurt people, instead of just see them die every time he failed? Would the guilt stains ever wash off?

"Stop!" he blurted, before he registered that he was going to do it. Snape's hands paused in the act of preparing to pour. "You're right. I'm sorry. I should do it. You're right."

Snape raised a single eyebrow. "An unusual phrase for you, Mr. Potter. Perhaps you might stretch yourself to make use of it more often." But he stepped back and handed the vial of poison to Harry without further comment.

He poured it out with numb fingers, feeling like the worst kind of murderer. He'd squashed the occasional spider when he'd lived in the Dursleys' cupboard, but this... How could anybody ever willingly do something like this? How could he know what he was doing right now, and yet still somehow be going through with it?

"I really hope this doesn't hurt," he told the rat sincerely. It was a golden opportunity for Snape to take a potshot at him, but he didn't say a word.

Harry placed the food tray back in the cage, and hoped against all practicality that the rat wouldn't eat it. When it took a cautious sniff and crept closer, he wanted to look away, but knew he had no right to.

_It's only a rat,_ he tried to remind himself, feeling utterly wretched.

"'Only' is a dangerous word, Mr. Potter," Snape said softly, close to his ear. Harry wondered for a startled moment if he was using Legilimency, then realised, with a shudder, that it was probably the voice of horrible experience. How much of a step was it, really, from 'It's only a rat' to 'They're only Muggles'? Dumb animals. Okay to kill.

Just like he had sometimes thought to himself that he wouldn't lose any sleep over it if he had to kill a Death Eater. After all, they were only Death Eaters. Not really human.

The rat ate the poisoned food. The rat eventually died. Harry left the classroom, and was violently sick.

Professor Snape made no comment on it when he returned.

* * *

Professor Snape efficiently dissected the poor, murdered rat, and was able to identify the remaining components of the poison. He made Harry brew a potion that would neutralise the poison before allowing him to leave. If he hadn't known better, Harry might have believed it was a deliberate ploy to assuage his guilt a little, help him believe that killing the innocent little beast had somehow been justified.

If so, it failed miserably.

Harry spent most of the rest of the day by himself, feeling rather fragile and depressed. He had a feeling that Professor Snape had been teaching him a lesson today - one that was far deeper and more personal than even the mental invasion of the Occlumency lessons. One that he could have done without, for all that it was probably more important than a hundred years of studying Potions.

It was an inauspicious start to the summer term.

* * *

Just over a week later, on what Hermione informed him was May Eve, Walpurgis Night, or even Walpurgisnacht - otherwise known as the evening before May Day - Harry found himself crouched in his Invisibility Cloak in the corner of the Slytherin common room, hoping against hope that nobody would trip over him. He'd followed a first-year in almost an hour ago; there were about a million ways this could go wrong, but if they'd tried a more complicated plan there would be even more of them.

Right now, he was finding that fear of discovery was beginning to pale into insignificance compared to the forces of cramp, boredom, hunger, and a growing certainty that he was going to need to attempt to navigate to the Slytherin bathrooms and make use of the facilities. Which was going to involve a stupendously high risk of being caught, especially since he wasn't about to attempt it underneath his invisibility cloak.

Not to mention that he couldn't take care of any of those things _or_ his actual mission here until the group of fifth-years lounging by the fire finally buggered off.

They had been playing a game of Exploding Snap that quite obviously none of them cared about ever since he'd first come in. Gradually everyone else in the room had trickled out - Slytherins, in bed before midnight, who knew? - but the fifth-years remained. Finally, the last holdout in the rest of the room, a small pink-faced girl with a Hermione-sized stack of books, packed up her things and left.

And then, abruptly, the tenor of the gathering changed. One of the boys oh-so-casually wandered over towards the passageway that led to the dorms. Another just happened to go and sit by the main entrance. And the others got down to business.

"Where's the little princess?" said a sneering blond boy that Harry vaguely recognised. Trage, wasn't it? One of the group they'd tussled with on the train.

"Tucked up in bed, dreaming of his daddy," snickered the only girl in the group.

"He's had a smug look these past few days. I don't like it." That was Ferus. He was obviously in command of the room; the others all grew less restless and paid attention when he spoke up.

The tall, thuggish boy by the main entrance - Dempsey, the third boy from the train - said: "It's only because the Potter boy fell down the stairs."

Mention of his own name was rather eclipsed by the sudden temptation to guffaw as he realised that 'the little princess' referred to Malfoy.

"That's quite an unnatural obsession he has there," said the girl. "One would almost think Malfoy fancied him, if he wasn't such a weedy little runt. And the way his hair sticks up, it looks frightful. The number of times he's been splashed all over the newspapers, you'd think someone would introduce him to a mirror."

"The only person Malfoy fancies is Malfoy," said Trage cuttingly, while Harry tried not to choke too audibly under the influence of several conflicting violent reactions.

"Anyway, his highness has been looking far too self-satisfied of late, and I don't trust it." Ferus reigned the conversation in. "I think he's had news from outside."

"Who from? Mummy?"

"Maybe she's sent him his teddy-bear," said the girl. "I bet he's got one."

"With blond fur," added Trage.

"Enchanted to say 'You're the pwettiest girl in the whole wide world' when he picks it up."

"Nonetheless, someone should watch him," Ferus said. "That bloody eagle owl is a menace. I've not got a letter off it yet."

"Could You-Know-Who really have freed his father?" asked Dempsey uneasily. There was a collective ripple of disquiet.

"I don't know. We have to assume it's a possibility."

"What does that mean for our plans?" asked the girl.

"Nothing," said Ferus firmly. "Even if it's true, it's only his word, and the others know what that's worth. This is our chance to win them over, but we have to work subtly. The sixth-years are mostly his - I'm not sure about Nott or Zabini, but it's not worth the risk of making an approach. We need to work on the younger kids."

"Some of them are pretty frightened," said Dempsey. "Everyone knows the hedge is You-Know-Who's work. They think he's left them to hang, and they don't trust Malfoy."

"One minute," said the girl suddenly, as if she'd been monitoring a countdown. Ferus nodded at her.

"All right. Any other business?"

"That bloody Dolorus kid," said Trage. "We've been trying to get him alone, but he's too damn smart. He knows the castle far too well."

"What about an ambush?"

Harry suddenly itched to draw his wand and start hexing. Plotting a coup against Malfoy was one thing, but listening to the Slytherins planning an attack on some scrawny little kid who'd annoyed them somehow was quite another.

"Not a chance," Trage shook his head. "I tell you, he's too smart for that. Sticks to the Prefects like a piece of Never-Ending Toffee."

Harry grinned to himself under the Invisibility Cloak. Well, what did you know? The Ravenclaw boy had taken Hermione's advice after all.

"All right." Ferus stood. "Break it up kids, and get back to the dorms. Be careful, Livia; Petrina's in Malfoy's pocket for sure."

The girl shrugged easily. "Don't worry, she thinks I'm shagging Dempsey."

The tall boy leered at her. "That can be arranged."

"Only with the Imperius Curse, sweetie. I remember you when you used to run around cousin Ambrosine's garden in nothing but a vest, wiping your snotty nose on the back of your hand and trying to eat slugs."

"'Course you do," said Trage, "it was only last summer."

The Slytherins gradually dispersed.

* * *

Things got slightly more comfortable when the last of the Slytherins had gone, and he could safely take over one of the chairs and sit for a while, even if he had to keep the Invisibility Cloak draped over his head. He was so busy running over the ramifications of a possible coup against Malfoy that he almost missed the letters that began melting out of the stonework at midnight.

Harry blinked blearily at the rhyme, and wondered if he could remember the duplicating spell Professor Flitwick had used on the last one. No, he decided reluctantly, probably not. He pulled out a quill and rumpled sheet of paper, borrowed somebody's ink, and laboriously copied the verse down.

> _To enter on a snaking path  
> The moon will guide you true  
> Seek out the centaur's better half  
> Between the red and blue _
> 
> _Look neither forward nor behind  
> To travel where you would  
> Traverse the path not shown and find  
> A crowd there silent stood _
> 
> _Take hands that hold the pages fast  
> An answer will appear  
> If you know words of ages past  
> That Salazar held dear _

Harry yawned as he finished scribbling the words down, hoping they would turn out to be intelligible come the morning. He had to sit blankly for quite some minutes before the words of the concealing spell he was supposed to use came back to him.

"_Imago_ wall!" He grinned in triumph as the letters disappeared. _Ha! Let's see you get to _this _item first, Malfoy._ Or Ferus. Or whoever it was.

He yawned again. Wow, he was tired. Well, he still had the Invisibility Cloak on, didn't he? And no one was likely to walk in at this time of night, anyway. So it would surely be fine to sit down and rest for... just a... few... minutes...


	24. Overheard Conversations

Harry woke up with a horrible feeling he was suffocating, and very nearly threw the sheet off of his head before he realised that it was, in fact, his Invisibility Cloak. He was still in the Slytherin common room. Which was no longer empty, it being just about breakfast time.

Snape was right - he really _was_ an idiot! How could he have fallen asleep? The constant nightmares, the struggle to keep up with his studies when his magic was failing him, and spending every spare minute obsessing over the clues was stretching him to the limit. Harry was beginning to wonder if, in previous years, he hadn't been drawing on his own natural magic to keep him going without realising it. If young witches and wizards got themselves out of trouble with wild bursts of magic, perhaps those who were trained to control it still used it unconsciously in more subtle ways. The drain on their magic could be crippling them all in more ways than they knew.

He slid out of the seat in a mad panic, knowing it was probably only the collective hunger of the school's Slytherin population that had saved him from being sat on. He had to get out! At least there were plenty of people coming and going - he just had to make it to the door without being caught and skinned alive.

He took an elbow to the stomach from a burly seventh-year, who fortunately wasn't awake enough to realise he'd struck someone invisible. Harry had to perform a kind of random ballet as people kept walking through whatever piece of space he was trying to store his body in. He glimpsed Malfoy coming into the common room, and grimaced. That was all he needed.

"Yah!" Somebody stepped on the corner of his invisibility cloak, and nearly yanked it right off him. Harry hunched against the floor as Malfoy narrowed his eyes in his direction, as if he'd perhaps caught a flash of movement. A heavy boot slammed into Harry's side, and he was nearly bowled over.

"Someone's in here!" said Malfoy. "It's Potter in his Invisibility Cloak! Find him, Crabbe."

Harry squirmed away from the henchman's aimless groping. Fortunately, the rest of the room were too confused to join the search.

"What's happening?" was the mumble on most sleepy lips.

Harry ducked behind a cluster of girls. "Malfoy's paranoid," he said, in his best Slytherin drawl, and moved on before anyone could turn around to see who'd spoken.

"Hey, Malfoy, seeing things again?" heckled somebody from the other side of the room.

"No wonder he can't catch a Snitch!"

Harry snorted in amusement, and the girl to the side of him whirled around. "Hey-" she began, registering the voice out of empty air. He hurried on.

Crabbe was blocking the way out. "Watch it, you oaf," Harry said, in the closest approximation he could make to Ferus's tone, and wriggled past while he was blinking in confusion. A second-year girl was opening the main door just as Harry reached it, and he made a dive for freedom.

* * *

He shared both the new clue and the story of his narrow escape with the others over breakfast. "We have to get working on this one right away," he said. "Malfoy suspects I was in there, so if whoever's behind it has put together that the clues always appear in common rooms, they'll know we've got it."

"I don't like the look of that last bit," said Ron. "Words that Salazar Slytherin held dear? How are we supposed to know those?"

"Maybe it'll be multiple choice," said Harry optimistically. "It might be another wall like the Ravenclaw one, where have to pick out words like 'pureblood'."

"Do we need the moonstone again?" Ron wondered. "It says 'the moon will guide you true'."

"I don't think so," said Hermione. "After all, why repeat a part of the puzzle that we've already solved before? Anyway, the first two lines always pertain to the item itself, rather than how to find it."

"Oh. So once we've got the Slytherin item, we have to use it on a moonlit night or something."

"Probably." Hermione started gathering up her stuff, looking apologetic. "Listen, I've got to go now, I've got Arithmancy first thing."

"And then we've all got Charms," said Ron.

"And then me and Hermione have both got double Potions," Harry groaned. "We can meet up after lunch, I suppose - I have to go to the library and get my Charms essay done now."

Hermione paused in the act of charging off to class. "Oh, Harry, haven't you _done_ that yet?" she asked in exasperation.

"Nearly!" he defended himself.

Ron leaned over as she left the Hall. "Nearly started, you mean?" he guessed.

"Yeah."

"Me too. Come on, let's get to the library."

* * *

They gathered again after lunch was over, and hunched together over Harry's scribbled copy of the clue. "'Seek out the centaur's'- is that a U?"

"It's an E."

"Well, that makes more sense. 'Seek out the centaur's better half, between the red and blue'," Hermione read.

"What's the better half of a centaur?"

"The front half," said Ron.

"Ron." She gave him a look. He shrugged.

"Well, half a centaur... that would be just a man, wouldn't it?"

"A horse," Harry corrected.

"The horse is the better half?" Ron said sceptically.

"The centaurs would think so," he said, uncomfortably remembering the fountain in the Ministry of Magic. No real centaur would gaze up at a witch and wizard with anything like the awe and adoration depicted in the statues.

"Harry's right," interjected Hermione. "The centaurs officially asked to be reclassified as beasts, don't you remember? They'd rather be grouped with horses than beings, as long as vampires and hags and things are included. So we have to look for a horse somewhere in Hogwarts. Maybe a painting? 'Between the red and blue'..."

"Gryffindor and Ravenclaw?" Harry suggested.

"It's somewhere to start. Harry, you go up towards the Ravenclaw quarters, and start walking back from there to Gryffindor Tower. Ron and I will start from the opposite end, and we'll all look out for anything that looks like a horse."

"All right. I'll meet you in the middle," he agreed.

Harry's luck being what it was, he ran into Snape within a few corridors of the Ravenclaw entrance. The Potions master had cornered the Ravenclaw boy he and the others had rescued on the train.

"Mr. Dolorus, I will not tolerate unprovoked attacks on my students," Harry heard him say acidly. "Make no mistake, another incident like this and you will be explaining yourself to the Headmaster."

Harry gave Dolorus a commiserating smile as he hurried away from the hopelessly biased Head of Slytherin, but the boy just brushed past him with a barely concealed scowl. Snape turned his attention to Harry.

"Ah, the wandering Mr. Potter," he sneered. "Tell me, Potter, what possible business you could have in this part of the castle?"

"None, sir," he said brightly. "I'm just on my way back to Gryffindor Tower."

Snape narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "'Back' implies that you went somewhere in the first place. Where?"

"Just walking, Professor," he said innocently. "It helps me think."

He raised an eyebrow archly. "Far be it from me to interfere in _that_ unlikely process. Get back, Potter, before I take points for your wilful disobedience of the Headmaster's instructions not to wander the halls alone."

"Yes, sir. Professor," he asked as a sudden afterthought, "was there some kind of particular saying or motto that Salazar Slytherin was famous for?"

Snape gave him an unreadable look. "Salazar Slytherin was famous for many things, Potter," he said sharply. "Not least of which was having the sense not to blurt house secrets out to any fool who asked. Begone."

He took the hint, and hurried away.

* * *

Harry had been traipsing through passages and up and down stairways for quite some time without finding the slightest hint of anything horsy, when he heard voices coming from an alcove up ahead. Extremely familiar voices, actually.

"I am _not_ jealous of Harry!" Ron said emphatically. Harry abruptly abandoned all plans to make his presence known; it would be embarrassing all round if he stepped in now. The polite thing to do would probably be to go back and walk around in circles for a while, and hope the conversation had moved on before he came back.

Of course, if he did that, he wouldn't be able to eavesdrop.

"Look, Ron, I'm just worried about him, that's all," Hermione said. "He's under a lot of pressure right now, and I know you've been... needing time to yourself lately, what with everything, and so I just want to stick close to him when you're not there."

"What's _that_ got to do with anything?" Ron demanded cluelessly. Irritation, affection and amusement tussled for supremacy as Harry listened his friends talking at cross-purposes.

Hermione sighed. "Look, Ron, all I'm saying is I don't fancy Harry or anything."

"I never said you did!" Ron's voice had gone very high all of a sudden. "You just- first you say I'm jealous, and then you start coming out with all this stuff that's got nothing to do with anything anyway-"

Amusement won. Harry decided that now was a good time to step in.

"Well, it's nice to know I'm so completely unfanciable," he said jovially, rounding the corner. Hermione went pink.

"Harry!" she squeaked. "Oh! I didn't mean-"

He laughed. "It's all right, Hermione. If it makes you feel better, I don't fancy you either." Not that she wasn't very pretty, but they were friends over and above the possibility of anything else. And then, of course, there was Ron. "What about you, Ron?" he added, rather wickedly.

His best friend froze like a deer in the headlights. Harry let him squirm for a moment, then kindly rescued him.

"You don't fancy me, do you?"

"No!" he blurted, with so much relief that Harry had to chuckle again. Hermione fake-sighed and slapped her forehead.

"Well, now you've gone and ruined my plan to set the two of you up over the summer."

Harry grinned, and looked around, realising for the first time that they were sharing the alcove with a sizeable statue. "Hey, is this the horse we're looking for?"

"It's the only one we've seen," said Ron, still rather red around the edges.

"What do we do next?" Harry wondered, reaching for the scribbled poem.

Hermione recited the verse from memory. "'Look neither forward nor behind to travel where you would; traverse the path not shown and find a crowd there silent stood'."

"How are we supposed to find it if it's not shown?" Ron wondered. Harry shrugged.

They tried various different ways of following the poem's advice: walking sideways, walking with their eyes closed... It didn't gain them anything, other than a number of bruises.

"Maybe we have to ride the horse," Ron suggested, trying to climbing up on its back. The statue bucked him off immediately, tossing its head irritably, and he sat down, rather dazed.

"You okay, Ron?" Harry checked.

"Huh? Oh, yeah..." he said vaguely. Hermione held her hand in front of his eyes.

"Ron, how many fingers am I holding up?"

"Snakes," said Ron.

Hermione looked worried. "Er-"

He batted her hand aside. "On the ceiling! Look at the ceiling."

They looked. It was indeed covered in a mass of carved snakes, their bodies passing over and under and around each other. "Wow, that's... making me kind of dizzy," Harry admitted, after a moment.

"'Neither forward nor behind'," Hermione breathed, beginning to smile. "Of course! We have to follow the snakes."

"How?" demanded Ron. "And which one? There must be about fifty up there."

"Look at the tails," said Harry. "There's four of them that start here in this alcove above the horse, so it must be one of those."

"But which one?" he repeated.

"Well, let's each pick our own snake and follow it," Hermione said sensibly. "I'll take the one with the diamond pattern."

With much stumbling, starting over and walking into each other, they traced the lengths of their respective snakes through the mass of serpents depicted. It wasn't made any easier by the fact that the carvings tended to squirm a bit, and wriggled out of the way indignantly if you tried to mark the ceiling with any kind of spell.

Eventually they fetched up in a semi-circular hallway with five doors. Unfortunately, all three paths had ended at different doors.

"Well, that didn't help!" said Ron.

"Yes it did," said Hermione. "'The path not shown' - stay here!" She ran back towards the alcove with the horse. Harry leaned back against his doorway and exchanged a shrug with Ron.

A short while later Hermione returned, eyes fixed on the ceiling as she walked. Harry put out a hand to steady her as she nearly walked smack into the wall. "Watch it, Hermione."

"Oh, sorry." She took a final jump forward, and ended up at the middle door. Harry and Ron were standing in front of two of the others; she pointed her wand at the last remaining door that none of them had reached, the rightmost. "It has to be that door. All the others have snakes leading to them, but that one's the only path that's _not_ shown."

"Brilliant!" said Ron admiringly. They scrambled through the doorway.

The 'crowd' part of the clue was readily apparent. Arranged in two rows facing the door were eight statues of witches and wizards, each with their hands held out in front of them, as if they were holding an invisible load. They alternated male and female, and none of them had any kind of identifying marks or inscriptions.

Harry had a very bad feeling about this.

"What's the next part of the clue, Harry?" Ron asked.

He found his sheet of paper. "'Take hands that hold the pages fast'..." He trailed off.

"None of this lot are holding anything," Ron said, which Harry had already noticed.

"Maybe we're supposed to know who they are..." Hermione said doubtfully.

"Well if _you_ don't, none of us will," he pointed out.

Hermione stepped towards the statue just to the right of the door, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a very bushy beard. "Excuse me, sir, can you tell us anything about yourself?" she asked politely.

The statue didn't move on its plinth or appear to register her presence, but a deep, pleasant baritone voice rang out from it. "_A member of house Hufflepuff is leftmost of a four. You will not find a Ravenclaw adjacent to the door._"

The statue fell silent. Ron turned around and thumped his head against the doorframe, hard. "Great," he said. "_More_ rhyming clues - that's _exactly_ what we need. Trust the bloody Slytherins."

Harry could only groan in agreement.


	25. The Words of Slytherin

Hermione efficiently collected the rhyming clues given by each statue and wrote them all down, and drew herself a little diagram that said:

> _F / M / F / M  
> M / F / M / F  
> \----door---- _

"You might be a genius, but you'll never make an artist, Hermione," said Ron.

"Ssh. I need to start assembling these clues..."

She would have sat on the floor and started trying to solve the whole thing then and there if they'd let her. Ron and Harry bodily picked her up and dragged her off to dinner, protesting all the way.

After eating they went down to the Room of Requirement, which helpfully provided eight pink and blue squares on the floor, and a number of brightly coloured cushions. "What are these for, Hermione?" Ron asked, sinking into a pile of red and yellow ones.

"Not to sit on. _Accio_ yellow cushion!" One of them went flying into her hands. "I think we need to figure out everyone's houses first. I grouped the clues that way... Harry, read me the first four."

Harry unfolded Hermione's page of written clues, the handwriting exemplary despite the fact she'd been scribbling them down at speed while the statues sang them. He cleared his throat. "Er... _Each house presents two members, their colours not on show, with no two in a column, or in the self-same row. The Hufflepuffs are women and the Gryffindors are men; in Slytherin, both genders, and in Ravenclaw again._" Despite his best efforts not to, the rhythm of the verses had him delivering them in a sing-song voice. "_A member of house Hufflepuff is leftmost of a four; you will not find a Ravenclaw adjacent to the door. One Slytherin is at the back, as she prefers to hide; a Gryffindor stands next to her, upon the right-hand side._"

Ron gave him a round of sarcastic applause. Harry threw a cushion at him.

They both watched in rather awed fascination as Hermione wandered up and down the rows, muttering to herself and piling up coloured cushions by some kind of logic that Harry couldn't fathom. Occasionally she would have him repeat a line, mumble some more, and go on a quick colour re-arranging rampage. "Is she solving this or decorating?" Ron wondered, leaning over.

Eventually, she seemed to get the cushions into an order she approved of, with only one colour left in each box. She turned to look at them. "Does that seem right?"

They exchanged helpless glances. "Erm..."

"Yeah, that looks about right, Hermione," Harry lied shamelessly.

"All right. Now we need to figure out who's who, so we can find the statue of the writer that we need to get the item from. Harry?"

Harry pushed the list into Ron's hands. "You can read it this time."

He rolled his eyes. "_The brewer is a Slytherin, the baker is his wife_," he read. "_The Quidditch player wore the robes of Hufflepuff in life._ Okay, Hermione?"

"Hold on, Ron," she requested, running about with a piece of chalk and scribbling letters in various boxes. "Okay."

"_The singer is a Gryffindor, and stands in the front row. The one behind the singer was a healer, long ago._"

Hermione appeared to get those two straight away, and smiled smugly to herself. "All right, carry on."

"_The Minister of Magic was a Ravenclaw of note, and stands behind a sporting type who never cast a vote._"

More scribbling, and some erasing. "Yes."

"_The artist was a gentleman enamoured of his looks. The eighth and last one left here was a writer of great books._" Ron folded the note and sat back.

"Thanks, Ron." Hermione ran about erasing and rewriting for a little while, then stood still and frowned, apparently indecisive about the last two occupations. Then, inexplicably, she put her hand over her mouth and started to giggle.

"She's cracked," said Ron authoritatively.

She turned towards them, beaming. "No, it's just- Oh, it's so _clever_! 'Last one left here'- and it actually ends up being the statue in the back row, on the left. The whole riddle is almost a trick, you don't even really need to solve it because it tells you the answer in the poem itself. It's just so... Slytherin!"

"You say that like it's a good thing!" said Ron indignantly.

Hermione just grinned, and hugged them both. Harry checked the time, and was shocked at how late it was. "I think we need to get you into bed," he said. She giggled even more, and after a moment it occurred to him to blush crimson.

They dragged their triumphant friend back to Gryffindor Tower, and despatched her in the direction of the girl's dorms. Ron smiled slightly after her, and Harry gave him an enquiring look.

"What?" he said defensively, and folded his arms. Harry remembered everything that had happened, and decided not to push him.

"You okay, Ron?" he asked softly instead.

Ron looked like he was about to brush away the question, then sighed slightly, and let the forced cheer slide away. "Yeah, I'm..." He shook his head. "Sometimes I'm only pretending to be okay, and... sometimes I really _am_ okay. And that's almost worse, you know?"

"I know." Harry touched his arm lightly in commiseration. Sometimes, no matter how busy life was, he missed Sirius constantly, an undeniable ache like a missing limb. And other times... well, life went on, and there were things to do and moments of happiness and reasons to laugh, and it wasn't until some random memory jolted him into guilt that he realised he'd been going on without thinking of his godfather at all.

"I don't know what I'm going to do when we can finally go home," Ron admitted. "I mean, everybody's written to me, and I've written back, but it's just- it won't be real until I get home, and he's not there. It's too easy just to think that it's all a big mistake, and I'll just get home and everyone'll laugh at me for thinking something happened to Percy." He sighed. "If we ever get out of here at all."

"Oh, we will," said Harry. "With Hermione in mad clue-solving mode? She'll get us out of here whether we want to go or not."

They exchanged tired smiles, and stumbled up to bed.

* * *

The next day's lessons interfered with getting back to the hall of statues with Hermione's solution. She and Harry had the morning free, but Ron was in Herbology, and it seemed wrong to go without him. Then they all had Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Ron had the afternoon free but the two of them had double Transfiguration...

Hermione was unusually agitated as the day progressed, briefly creating a pair of bunny slippers instead of the desired rabbits in Transfiguration. Fortunately, with the erratic performance almost everyone's wand was giving these days, Professor McGonagall didn't pass comment on it.

As soon as the school day was over, Hermione practically charged back to the statue of the horse, forcing the two boys to chase her despite their longer legs. "Wait up, Hermione," Harry pleaded, as she ran on ahead to the alcove with five doors.

"Sorry, Harry." She waited for him to catch up, but almost bounced on the spot, unable to keep still. "I just want to see if I've got the answer right."

"Yeah, well, calm down a little, okay?" he suggested. "You don't want to trip and fall flat on y- yeargh!" He stepped through the rightmost door as they had the day before... and the floor fell away from underneath him.

"Harry!" Ron and Hermione rushed to peer down at him from the doorway. He rubbed the back of his head.

"I'm all right!" he called up. "I just fell into this..." He looked around. "Er... snake pit..." A writhing mass of serpents squirmed around and underneath him. He hastily jumped to his feet, trying not to tread on any of them. "Sorry, sorry, sorry..."

A blunt reptilian head the size of his torso appeared in front of him, swaying slightly. "You ssspeak our tongue, wizard?" it asked, intrigued.

He hadn't realised he'd slipped into Parseltongue. "Er, yes."

"No one has ssspoken to us since the Basilisk-friend came visssiting," remarked a small snake with a red and black pattern, which coiled lazily around his ankle.

Tom Riddle, Harry supposed - unless it was Salazar Slytherin himself. Exactly how rare _were_ Parselmouths, anyway? "Um, I don't suppose you can help me out, can you?" He could see Ron's pale, freckled face looking down from above with an expression of great alarm.

"We are supposssed to crush any visssitors that fall into our pit," said the red and black snake crossly.

"_Sssqueeze them, sssquash them_," came a general murmuring from the serpent horde. Harry blanched.

"Er-"

"Idiotsss!" said the giant green snake that had spoken to him first. "If he ssspeaks to us, then he is surely sssupposed to be here. We must help him essscape."

"Yes!" he said fervently. "Please!"

The big green snake dipped its head towards him. "Climb upon my back, little wizard. I will lift you up to the sssurface."

Harry was not exactly thrilled at that prospect, but the idea of remaining down here in a pit full of argumentative snakes definitely didn't make for a better choice. He clung on to the snake as best he could, and closed his eyes briefly as it lifted him up to the doorway.

Ron and Hermione made a hasty retreat.

"Er, Harry-"

"It's all right," he said, hoping it was true. He scrambled down from the giant snake, and rubbed its scales in thanks. "Thank you for helping me."

The oversized head swayed slightly. "Of courssse. Drop in on us again sssometime."

"Maybe," he hedged, reluctant to actually commit to any such thing. He wasn't at all sure the rest of the snakes down below would be willing to refrain from crushing him a second time.

Harry gratefully stepped back from the edge, and shut the door. Ron continued to stare at it warily. "You know, I'm beginning to wonder if I'm the only one around here who thinks it's strange to keep giant killer monsters in a school," he mused.

Hermione looked horrified. "Oh, I'm sorry, Harry! This is all my fault."

He rubbed at his slightly sore elbow, and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "How d'you figure that out, Hermione?"

"I was so impatient to get back and finish solving the puzzle... I should have realised the snakes on the ceiling would move around!"

Ron groaned. "You mean we're going to have to go through that whole tracing paths thing again?"

They did, and found that the correct door had now moved to the position of second from the left. Nonetheless, Harry opened it very cautiously, and didn't relax until he saw the rows of statues standing there.

"All right. We're here now, so no harm done," he said. "Which one did you say was the right statue, Hermione?"

"The one at the back there on the left," she said, still sounding rather wobbly and less confident. Nothing upset Hermione quite so much as having overlooked something in her planning.

Harry found himself faced with a statue of a tall, thin woman with a slightly disturbing smile. She didn't look like somebody who'd written great books, unless they were the kind that contained gruesome descriptions of how to poison people. Still, Hermione had solved the puzzle, and she was certainly more likely to have got it right than he could possibly hope to... He took a deep breath, and gripped the statue by its stony wrists.

A book appeared out of nowhere, balanced on the upraised palms. Harry yelled in triumph, and snatched it away from its silent guardian.

The feeling of achievement was short-lived. The pages of the book turned out to be completely blank, and no amount of spell-casting or other means of persuasion could make them any other way. "This is Riddle's diary all over again," he grumbled.

"Try writing in it," Hermione suggested.

Harry found his quill and ink, and quickly scribbled the word 'hello'. The ink bled away into the page and vanished, but no other words appeared to replace it.

"It must be password-protected," she said.

Harry groaned in disbelief. "Well, how are we supposed to read it, then?"

"It must be the final part of the clue - the words that Salazar held dear."

"Fine." Ron spoke directly to the pages. "Pure-blood! Cunning. Ambitious. Er, snakes." Nothing happened.

"Maybe it's a different kind of words... Say something in Parseltongue, Harry," Hermione suggested.

"Hello?" he tried cautiously.

"That was English," Ron told him. Harry concentrated hard.

"Hello?" he said more gruffly.

Hermione giggled at his tone of voice, then held up a hand in apology. "Still English," she sighed. Harry shook his head.

"I can't do it," he said. "I can't speak Parseltongue to it unless I can see a snake."

She frowned. "Well, that can't be the solution then. It must be some kind of saying that Salazar Slytherin was famous for."

"Well, wouldn't something like that be in _Hogwarts: A History_?" Ron asked. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, it _would_ help if you would only sit down and read it for yourself," she said. Probably all but automatically by now. "There's actually very little about Slytherin written down anywhere. He was very private and rather secretive - most of what we know about him comes from the other Founders, not directly from the source."

Harry sat down and sighed. "So how can we possibly solve the clue?"

Hermione wore a slightly hesitant expression. "Well, there _is_ one way..."

"What?" Ron demanded.

"You're not going to like it," she said.

"_What_?"

She pulled a face. "Well, we could always try... asking the Slytherins..."

She was right. They _didn't_ like it.

* * *

Harry was convinced that the only way a Slytherin was going to tell them anything was if they used the Polyjuice Potion again, but as Hermione pointed out, if it was really something every true Slytherin should know, asking about it would be deeply suspicious.

"What if we sent them a note pretending to be somebody else?" Ron suggested desperately.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Ron, they're _Slytherins_. They're naturally suspicious, and I think even Crabbe and Goyle might find mysterious letters a _bit_ weird."

"I'm not too sure they can actually read, anyway. What about if we ask Luna to get her dad to make it a question on the puzzle page in _The Quibbler_, and then intercept all the replies...?"

"Or we could steal some of Snape's Veritaserum."

"Put on your Invisibility Cloak and pretend to be the Bloody Baron quizzing members of house Slytherin to make sure they know their stuff."

"It's no good," Hermione told them firmly. "Whether you like it or not, you _are_ going to have to try and talk to them."

Easier said than done. The closest thing to a non-hostile Slytherin they could get was a Slytherin that none of them had ever actually spoken to, and there was no point talking to first-years since they were least likely to know anything. Harry ended up sidling up to the smallest, least aggressive looking third-year he could find sitting alone in the library.

"Hey, excuse me. Can I speak to you?"

The boy looked more startled to be addressed than immediately confrontational, which Harry hoped counted as a good sign.

"I just wanted to ask a question," he explained quickly.

"What?" the boy said, a little warily.

Harry smiled encouragingly. "What was Salazar Slytherin's favourite saying?"

The Slytherin scowled, and abruptly pushed his chair back. "Oh, ha ha," he said sharply. "Find someone else to set up your punchline, Potter." He stormed off.

Harry blinked after him, befuddled. Ron appeared around the edge of the bookshelves. "Well?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"He thought it was the beginning of a joke."

"It does sound like one, actually," Ron said thoughtfully. Harry sighed, and sat down at the newly vacated table.

"It's no good," he said, shaking his head. "How are we supposed to get anything out of the Slytherins? They hate us! And we hate them!"

"'To know the secrets of the school, your enemies befriend'," Ron recited quietly. Harry smiled bitterly.

"If we're supposed to be making friends with the Slytherins, I think we've left it just a little too late."

"We're in big trouble," Ron sighed, sitting down beside him.


	26. The Hedge Maze

"We _only_ have until Midsummer to solve this," Hermione said. It was becoming a frustrating mantra. Somehow the remaining days of May had bled away, and June was staring them in the face. They were no closer to figuring out how to crack the secrets of the Slytherin book.

"We _know_, Hermione!" Harry groaned, covering his face with his hands.

"Three weeks, Harry!"

"We can count!" snapped Ron. Then he sighed. "Sorry, Hermione." He seemed tired all the time now, unable to maintain the kind of fiery anger that he had once been able to keep burning long after it should have died down. They were all on edge; as if the Curse of Durand wasn't enough, there were the sixth year exams to think about. A breathing space between the terrifying significance of OWLs and NEWTs of course, but still important enough to worry about - and starting in less than a week. Despite the reduced number of subjects, Harry couldn't imagine he could possibly concentrate well enough to do his best.

"We need a Slytherin we can trust," Hermione said, dismissing both the flare of temper and the apology.

"There's nobody," said Ron.

She eyed them both. "There's Snape."

"Like I said, there's nobody," he repeated.

"Ron-"

"I know, I know!" he conceded. "But Harry already tried to ask him, remember?"

"Yes, but he didn't say what for. Remember your bright idea for getting into Ravenclaw?"

Harry blinked. "You think we should just go up to Snape and tell him- what?"

"That we've been trying to solve the final clue, it needs someone from Slytherin to unlock the answer, and we need his help," she said patiently.

He scowled. "You realise if we go to him he'll just lord it over us for the next-"

"Harry!" Hermione said sharply. "This is important! I know you don't like Snape. Snape is not likeable. But he _is_ on our side, and if you're going to keep refusing to ask him for help when he might be the only one who-"

"All right, all right!" He quickly held up his hands. "I'm not refusing. I just- I know. I'm not refusing."

She gave him a soft smile. "We do stuff that we hate, Harry," she said gently. "We all do. Because this is a war, and some things are more important than any price we have to pay to make them happen."

The angry desire to lash out rose up, to remind her how much he had lost when she had given up so little, but he ruthlessly crushed it down. She was right. He'd learned this lesson time and again, and he kept ignoring it when it came to the moment that it mattered most. People had died. Sirius had died.

Harry couldn't quite help the bitter smirk that curled across his face. He owed it Sirius to ask Snape for help. If his godfather had even had the chance to be buried, there would have been a serious amount of revolving going on in said grave right now. But he hadn't, and it was Harry's fault, and making sure that nobody else was killed or lost because of him was worth any amount of mockery and snide remarks.

"You're right," he said, standing up. "We'll go to Snape. This weekend, if the coast looks clear."

* * *

Their attempt to go and see Snape on the Saturday was derailed by the fact that he had a group of third-years in detention. ("What kind of sadist gives up his own weekend just so he can make other people miserable?" Ron grumbled.) Lurking in the dungeons was suspicious behaviour enough, especially for Ron who no longer had any classes down there, so they didn't dare try again until the next day. Harry supposed they could have taken the Cloak for cover, but he suspected Snape would confiscate it and take a few hundred points off before they even had a chance to explain their presence.

They returned on the Sunday evening, and found Snape's classroom empty and in darkness. The office, however, seemed to be occupied. Harry hesitated on the verge of knocking. "What if he's got students in there?"

Hermione shook her head. "He wouldn't ask anybody to come in for a discussion on a weekend."

"Well, they could have come to... see him... for..." Harry trailed off as he contemplated the prospect of _anybody_ voluntarily dropping in on Snape. "Okay, I'll knock."

He almost regretted doing so as the door was swept open by an imposing, scowling, thoroughly irritated Potions master. Any of the other teachers might relax, dress casually and put their feet up on a Sunday evening when there was little prospect of encountering students, but not Snape.

"Potter," he said, glowering. His dark eyes took in the others hovering nervously behind him. "And your usual partners in crime. What do you want?"

Harry hesitated, unwilling to explain any of this in the corridor. "Er... may we come in?"

Snape stood aside, managing to signal with a single raised eyebrow a lengthy message about exactly what they could expect if this wasn't worth his time. He closed the office door, and folded his arms expectantly.

Harry eyed his friends hopefully, but they were obviously waiting for him to speak first. Ron shifted uncomfortably, and Snape's scowl deepened.

"We need your help," Harry blurted out.

"Frequently, and in many ways, but since history has shown you have a basic inability to grasp even the simplest of concepts when it is repeatedly explained to you, I fail to see that there is any point to you contacting me about it now. What, Potter, do you _want_?" he demanded acidly.

"We need help with the final clue," Harry explained quickly. "The Slytherin item is a book, but it's password protected and it looks completely blank to all of us. According to the clue we need to know 'words of ages past that Salazar held dear'."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Hence your bullheaded and entirely unsubtle efforts to question members of my house over the past few weeks."

"Sir, do you know what words of Slytherin's the clue refers to?" Hermione asked hopefully.

"Perhaps," he said curtly. "Leave me the book and the clues, and kindly depart."

Ron looked as if he was about to make an indignant retort, but Harry stilled him with a quick touch to the arm. He'd expected nothing else. "Yes, sir," he said, with unimpeachable politeness, and handed the book over.

Sadly, the effort seemed rather wasted thanks to Snape's poker face; it didn't even win him a raised eyebrow.

They gave Snape Hermione's copies of the poems, which were of course neatly and intelligibly printed, uncrumpled, and properly bound. Ron shook his head angrily as they left the Potions master's office.

"The _nerve_-" he started, making Hermione snicker. She covered her mouth with a hand, and smiled round it.

"Sorry. You just sounded really like your mum for a moment," she explained. Ron looked appropriately chagrined.

"Oh, thanks, Hermione. That's all I need. Still, after everything we've done-"

"Come on, what were you expecting him to do?" said Harry. Somehow it was easier to shake off the irritation if you started from the assumption Snape was going to be totally unreasonable and weren't disappointed. "This is Snape we're talking about. If he's got the slightest idea how to unlock that book, he'll try and solve it for himself."

"Yeah, but we still have the other two items," Ron pointed out.

"He must know they're in the Room of Requirement. We showed McGonagall and Dumbledore, and they're bound to have told him." Snape was, for whatever reason, apparently right at the top of Dumbledore's list of most trusted teachers. Although considering the staff list had at times included Umbridge, Quirrel and a Polyjuiced Barty Crouch, he supposed it wasn't all that high an honour.

Ron looked even more frustrated. "Great. So he's probably just going to nab them in the middle of the night and scarper without even telling anybody?"

"Which is why we'll be waiting in the corridor with the Invisibility Cloak as soon as it gets dark. Right, Harry?" Hermione chimed in.

Harry grinned.

* * *

As it happened, they waited in more comfort than expected, since the Room of Requirement helpfully provided a trophy display room with a convenient alcove with padded seating that the Cloak could be placed over to form a kind of Invisibility Tent. Hermione immediately hauled out her books and started quizzing them both on various topics that might come up in the exams.

"Let's just hope Snape doesn't decide he needs a sit down before he leaves," Ron said, prodding the Invisibility Cloak gingerly.

It was a good thing they'd been able to take advantage of the seating, since Snape didn't arrive until shortly before midnight.

"Making sure not even the other staff see him," Ron said disapprovingly. Hermione hushed him as the Potions master prowled inside.

The Gryffindor and Hufflepuff items were once again displayed on colour-coded stands. Snape sneered momentarily over the red and gold, but lifted the shield down and somehow attached it to his arm. Harry was vaguely disappointed that the lion didn't see fit to take a swipe at him. It didn't come out to say hello, either; there was definitely no reason for it to take a liking to Snape.

The little badger statue was similarly non-responsive as the teacher slipped it into a pocket. Harry wondered if the lack of reaction from the items was not so much due to Snape's house allegiances as to the fact that the Curse had already chosen Harry himself as the person to solve it. He would have shared his idea with the others, but the need to be stealthy made it impossible to do anything but creep along keeping the Cloak in place.

Snape's long strides and alarmingly good instincts for spotting invisible troublemakers conspired to make it difficult to follow very closely, but it was easier once they got outside the castle and the sounds of the outside world at night helped cover their movements. They watched from a distance as he withdrew the Slytherin book from the folds of his robes, looking up to check the position of the moon.

"We'll never hear what he says from back here," Ron grumbled.

"Doesn't matter, as long as it opens up a pathway," Harry said.

Hermione looked rather worried. "Do you think we should have told the rest of the staff too? If he goes in there alone-"

"Well, he won't be alone if we follow him. And with the Thaumentors about, the fewer people moving in a group out here together, the better."

"You're not ditching us that easily, mate," Ron warned.

Harry smiled. "I know. Wouldn't dream of it." And he meant it. After last year, he'd learned only too well the dangers of trying to do everything himself without waiting for backup.

"Good," Ron said, mollified.

They couldn't make out Snape's exact words, but it sounded like he was quoting or reciting something, formalised speech but without the dramatic punch of an actual spell. "Oh, I wish I could hear what he's saying," Hermione moaned.

"It must be some kind of secret knowledge, passed down from Slytherin to Slytherin," Harry said.

"That or it's just in the kind of Dark Arts books that Snape would read and we wouldn't be allowed to," Ron added.

"Something's happening." Harry could see that the book was doing something, though it wasn't exactly clear what. Tendrils of green and silver light were rippling across the pages. A moment later, a brilliant globe rose up above Snape's head, and an emerald beam shot out of it to strike the hedge. The thorns seemed to burn or perhaps melt away, creating an impressive doorway, as large as the one that led into the Great Hall.

"Well, it's opened a way into the maze all right," said Ron. Snape's triumphant smirk was briefly lit by the glow from the book, and then he closed it and the light winked out. The doorway, however, remained.

"Quickly!" Harry tugged the Invisibility Cloak off as Snape disappeared into the maze. "The hedges should be enough to hide us, but we'd better not lose track of Snape."

The maze reminded him unpleasantly of the Triwizard Tournament, although in truth it little resembled the relatively neat hedges specially planted for that occasion. These passageways were dark and narrow, vicious thorns as long as his hands ready to snag and tear at anybody who passed too close to them. It was hard to keep up with Snape when they couldn't see him - sounds were difficult to track in the tangle of branches, and sometimes they had no choice but to use a Locating Charm to figure out which path to take.

Harry got scratched rather badly several times, usually because of his nervous glances up at the night sky. They didn't dare risk lighting their wands for fear of attracting attention; fortunately, Snape was under no such restriction, so they could at least see him whenever they had a straight enough line of vision.

Harry swore as his robes became tangled yet again. It was a _nightmare_ trying to move around stealthily in these things. Why couldn't Hogwarts have adopted Muggle modes of dress for casualwear? He wouldn't be having this problem if he'd been wearing jeans. Well, unless they'd been inherited from Dudley. Then they'd probably be even baggier than his robes.

"Stop struggling, you're making it worse," Hermione hissed at him. She began unwinding his robes from the branch they had caught on while he jiggled impatiently. Harry glanced towards Professor Snape, just visible up ahead - and then happened to look up.

"Hermione, get down!" he whispered urgently. The three of them all hunched over as the dark shape of a Thaumentor swept overhead. However, it was interested in a more tempting target than the three of them.

"It's after Snape!" Ron was caught between conflicting urges to keep his voice down and call out in warning. Hermione gripped Harry's arm as the creature swooped down on their Professor. If he hadn't seen...

Snape suddenly executed one of those sharp turns he had made an art of in the classroom, and threw up his right arm with the Gryffindor shield. The lion roared, and reared up out of the shield to take a swipe at the Thaumentor, apparently unaffected by its magic-sucking powers. The creature gave a screech that made no sound but reverberated through Harry's skull, and wheeled away.

"Wow," Ron whispered, stunned. "Who would think the Gryffindor shield would work like that for _Snape_?"

"Well, he _is_ brave," Hermione pointed out. "He has to be, with all the things he's done for Dumbledore."

Harry grinned in delight. "Oh, please, please, tell Professor Snape he has Gryffindor qualities," he begged. "I'll pay any money you want to see the look on his face."

"Come on. We're losing him." Hermione finally freed Harry from the thorns, and they started moving again. Snape had already vanished into the darkness, and it took several turns before they caught sight of his glowing wand again.

"I don't think he knows where he's going," Harry observed. They seemed to have been following a meandering path, and he was sure Snape was following the old standby of left, right, left, right whenever they came to a choice.

"The Ravenclaw item is supposed to be the guide," Hermione whispered. "Slytherin to get in, Hufflepuff to end the Curse, and Gryffindor to protect. Without the third item, he should still be able to end the Curse, but only if he can find out where to go."

"What if he can't?" Harry wondered nervously. She could only shrug worriedly.

It was not long later that Harry began to get the impression that someone was following them. Not a hovering attacker from the skies, this time, but more mundane pursuit on the ground. Had Voldemort's agent in the castle been alerted to the fact they'd entered the maze?

He managed to signal, through a series of quick whispers and hand gestures, that the others should continue following Snape, while he put the Invisibility Cloak on and doubled back to see if he could surprise whoever was tailing them. Neither of them looked happy, but they saw the sense in only one person going, and Harry was really the best equipped to fight if there was a Death Eater on their trail.

And, also, he didn't give them much of a chance to argue.

Backtracking was even more difficult than following Snape. There seemed to be many more side turnings than he remembered from going the other way. Had they come through that one, or that one? They'd taken a right turn here, but was that narrow gap big enough for them to have emerged from, or should he move further on and look for the next one?

Despite himself, Harry started to panic. He'd lost his bearings completely. The Invisibility Cloak felt stifling, and he was nervous about ripping it on the thorns - should he risk taking it off? Where were Ron and Hermione? He turned this way and that, torn between going forward and back. Assuming he could identify either of those directions, which was looking less and less likely every second.

He could heard footsteps.

Harry stopped, heart pounding. Yes, footsteps. Somebody moving stealthily - off to the right? Or maybe up ahead? His eyes flickered wildly in the dark, trying to see in all directions at once.

He drew his wand, and realised that in his current position, he couldn't use it. He slowly eased the Invisibility Cloak over his head, and balled it up so it wouldn't impede his movements. The footsteps seemed closer, now, perhaps only a few-

A hand grabbed him by the back of the neck.


	27. The Secret of House Hufflepuff

Harry was whirled around, and found himself face to face with Professor Snape.

"Potter," the Potions master said disdainfully. "Somehow, this is not quite a surprise."

His instincts, which had not quite caught up with proceedings, were still lining up possible hexes to throw at his attacker. It was difficult to overcome the temptation of letting them get on with it. "Um... Professor! I thought you were-"

"Unaware of your juvenile attempts at stealthy pursuit? Hardly." He had extinguished his wand-light to creep up on Harry; he relit it now, and his dark eyes scanned the shadows. "No doubt it would be unreasonable to expect you to have restricted this foolishness to risking only your own life. Where are your fellow idiot Gryffindors?"

Harry was opening his mouth to answer - or, if he was honest, probably to babble some kind of justification for their presence - when a ragged scream ripped the air. It cut off with unpleasant abruptness. "That was Hermione," he said, heart hammering inside his ribcage.

Snape was already moving, and Harry chased after him. What had happened? Where was Ron? "Ron!" he yelled. He was pulled to a halt as a bony hand clamped suddenly over his mouth.

"Thank you, Potter, for carefully eliminating any chance of the element of surprise," Snape said irritably. "Perhaps you could at least endeavour not to announce my presence to the world while you're at it?" He had released his grip and stalked on before Harry could fight down his angry blush and find a retort to respond with.

"Harry?" Ron's voice was faint and high with anxiety. Harry raised his wand.

"_Reperio_ Ron Weasley!" The cloud of sparks that shot out of the end pointed somewhere off to his left. He ran after the fast-moving Snape, no longer stopping to free his robes when they got tangled but simply letting the fabric rip. He could see a moving glow of light through the branches, but he couldn't make out much else.

"Ron!" Harry burst through to his friend's side, and almost tripped over Hermione. She was slumped on the ground, unmoving, and for a moment his heart stopped.

"Get behind the shield, Harry!" Ron yelled urgently, grabbing his sleeve. He was confused, looking back towards Snape, but then the air beside him exploded into multicoloured sparks, and he realised Ron had cast an Invisible Wall Charm. But who was attacking them?

"Hermione?" he panted.

"I don't know what he hit her with. She's breathing, but I can't-" Ron broke off as another spell hit his shield in a stream of blue lightning, and raised his wand to reinforce it. "_Caecus Murus!_"

"_Enervate!_" Harry's hopes that Hermione's condition was nothing worse than Stunned were dashed as the spell failed to rouse her. Despite Ron's reassurance he had to check for himself, and knelt to fumble for a pulse beneath her tangle of hair. Her skin was too warm to the touch, as if she was feverish, and she didn't respond at all to the pressure against her neck. Her pulse seemed to him to be light and too fast, but there wasn't time to check with any accuracy.

"_Capite Obvoluto!_" Harry flinched and whirled towards the voice from his side, then realised it was Snape.

Ron seemed to accept their hated teacher's presence with hardly a blink. "Sir, Hermione's been hit with an unknown spell. It's a Death Eater."

As the glow of spells momentarily cleared, Harry glimpsed a slight figure ducking into a side path for cover. "A student?"

"Undoubtedly," said Snape. "_Obnixio!_" He reinforced Ron's failing shield with a spell-resisting charm of his own.

Harry dove past Ron to where the Wall Charm ended, and took a shot at the junior Death Eater. "_Malleus!_"

"_Resiliatem!_" The Death Eater bounced his own Hammer Hex back towards him, forcing him to take a nose-dive. As he glanced up, he caught a strange glint of moonlight off their attacker's head, and realised he was wearing some kind of helmet.

The Ravenclaw item!

"_Exossario!_" Harry barely had the presence of mind to duck as another curse shot his way. Snape's bony hand roughly hauled him back into the protection of Ron's shield.

"He's got the Ravenclaw item," Harry blurted out.

"Yes, thank you, Potter, a helpful dose of the obvious there."

"Ahh!" Ron yelled in alarm as something struck the centre of his Wall Charm and it detonated completely.

"_Caecus Murus!_" Harry quickly replaced it. They were left trapped in one space by their own shield, but what else could they do? They couldn't just leave Hermione lying there.

"It won't last. He's figured out how to smash through them now," Ron warned.

"We'll have to take a chance and rush him."

"Potter!"

Harry ignored Snape's enraged shout as he leapt out of the protected area and charged towards their enemy. "_Edolimacis!_" He fired wildly and continued running in a half crouch. A hex whizzed past his head, and he heard somebody grunt behind him.

He glimpsed the Death Eater boy lurking in the shadows. Definitely a boy, smaller than Harry. So, not Malfoy - not Ferus, either. Who?

"_Crematum!_"

Harry hit the ground as a curse sizzled overhead, causing his skin to instantly blister. He stayed down and pointed his wand at the Death Eater's legs. "_Impedire!_"

Fast-growing roots shot out of the ground and tangled around his enemy's feet, tripping him. Harry leapt forward, and wrenched at the strange, organic-looking helmet that covered his head. For a moment, it seemed as if the only way to get it off would be to pull the entire head off with it - and then it came free with a pop.

Leaving him staring into the face of Tiberius Dolorus.

Harry was so startled at finding his enemy revealed as a skinny little Ravenclaw fifth-year that he almost didn't roll aside in time to avoid the curse that was hurled his way. "_Secarelingua!_"

The junior Death Eater wasn't using Unforgiveables - perhaps was not yet strong enough to cast them - but Harry doubted very much that any of the hexes being hurled his way were covered in the Hogwarts curriculum. He shot off a quick, badly aimed "_Stupefy!_" and scrambled back towards the others with the helmet. Ron grabbed him by the arm and hauled him back behind the magical shield, which he must have reinforced while Harry and Dolorus were duelling.

"Did you see who it is?" Ron asked urgently.

"It's Tiberius Dolorus! He's a _Ravenclaw_," Harry blurted in disbelief. That clash on the train - the way Dolorus had been so scarily intense in his hatred of Ferus and his gang... he was reminded suddenly of Barty Crouch in his Mad-Eye Moody guise. The one thing true fanatics seemed to hate even more than their enemies were members of their own side who had defected or disappointed.

Which meant he'd been wrong all along. He'd thought Maynard Ferus's scheming to wrest control of the Slytherins from Malfoy was a power play to set himself up as top man with the Death Eaters. But if that was true, Dolorus wouldn't have been out to get him... And that meant Ferus had to be fighting _against_ Voldemort, not for him. He and his little band of faithful fifth-years were trying to use the Malfoy family's fall from grace to rescue house Slytherin from the Death Eaters.

"Exciting as it is to sit here and listen to you discuss your prejudices, I think there are more pressing things to be getting along with, Potter."

Snape's words lacked their usual venomous bite thanks to the strain in his voice. Harry glanced at him, and paled when he saw the state of his lower leg. He didn't know what hex had caused the damage, but it looked far worse than when Fluffy the three-headed dog had mauled it.

"Professor?" he said uncertainly.

Snape gritted his unpleasant teeth. "Thanks to your stupid yet wholly predictable need to leap into action without looking, I am no longer able to walk." He pulled the Gryffindor shield off his arm, and tossed it to the ground near Harry's feet. "Well, go on, Potter. Since you feel obliged to engineer your own opportunities for Gryffindor heroics, the least you can do is get on with it."

Harry slowly bent down and picked up the shield. "You want me to...?"

"Don't be dense, Mr. Potter, I see enough of that vapid expression when assessing your Potions knowledge in class. I cannot walk, Miss Granger remains unconscious, and Mr. Weasley is, remarkably enough, currently maintaining a passable level of defensive shielding. Therefore, ill as the responsibility suits you, you appear to be the only one available to complete the task at hand."

He handed across the Hufflepuff badger, which Harry took hesitantly. Whatever Snape's opinion of his usefulness, he knew that running off in the middle of a pitched battle would leave the others in a precarious position. With Ron pouring everything he had into blocking curses, Snape badly bleeding and unable to move, and Hermione nothing but a - possibly severely injured - target, what chance did they have of overpowering a fanatical Death Eater shooting to maim? "What about Hermione? I should-"

"Snape's right." Ron's words were blunt and unexpected, like a short sharp slap or a dash of cold water. He leaned out past the hedge and shot another Stunner into the darkness before continuing. "This might be the only chance we get to end the Curse, and you're the only one who can do it. We'll protect Hermione if we can. _Go_."

That got him moving where no amount of berating from Snape would have, and Harry pulled on the helmet he'd taken from Dolorus. The shape of the world around him became abruptly visible, although everything was tinted blue by the visor. The path he had to take was also suddenly clear, a bright dotted line against the background. "Whoa."

"You know where you're going?" asked Ron.

Harry nodded, and was made slightly dizzy by the way the image in the visor flickered in response to the movement. He would have made some sort of comparison to Muggle night-vision goggles, but Hermione was the only one who would have got the reference. And she still hadn't stirred-

"Then go." Ron pointed his wand into the darkness. "_Fulgeo!_"

The magic visor cut out the flare before Harry even had the chance to be dazzled; no one else would be so lucky. He raised the Gryffindor shield over his head, and ran for it.

It was easy to navigate the ins and outs of the maze now that he had the visor. The pathways between the hedges were clearly drawn instead of shadow on shadow, and even seemed to be wider. Twice Thaumentors swooped overhead, but though he held the shield up they showed no interest in him, obviously headed for the more tempting lure of a magical firefight. Harry fervently hoped that the others were still okay.

Even Snape.

Harry soon lost track of how long he'd been running for. He was fairly sure the maze was shifting and reshaping itself around him. It wasn't until the dotted line in his visor became a flashing light that he realised he'd entered a clearing. For all that, logically, he knew the hedges actually formed a ring around the school, he was sure that this was in some symbolic way the centre of the maze.

He pulled off the Ravenclaw helmet, and slowly breathed out. Okay. The end of the maze. Try not to think too much about the Triwizard Tournament...

What was he supposed to do? It was just a perfectly circular clearing. No Portkey to grasp, thankfully, but nothing else obvious to do and no instructions either.

Something squirmed in the inner pocket of his robes, and he remembered the final item. He released the badger figurine and held it in his open palm for a moment.

_Hufflepuff_, Harry thought. Of course, it would be the Hufflepuff item that ended the maze. Durand's puzzle had been invented to force the solver to cooperate with others - and Helga Hufflepuff had been the only one to found her house on those principles. Bravery, scholarship, cunning and ambition... they were all individual traits. Helga had been the one who required loyalty, a _group_ trait; just as she had wanted her house to accept everybody, not just somebody's narrow idea of the best and brightest. Building a house that was strong when it came together, instead of just picking those who were strong individually and expecting them to come together.

No wonder everybody had always thought Hufflepuffs were a load of old duffers. People looked at the individuals and thought they weren't very impressive, when they should have been looking at how the whole house came together. While the other Founders had each carefully taken their pick of the precious gems and hoarded their treasure, Helga had taken the boring old sturdy bricks... and built a castle out of them.

The badger butted his fingers insistently. He took the hint, and placed it down on the ground. It immediately disappeared beneath the earth, burrowing at great speed. Harry ran backwards as the entire surface of the clearing began to shake.

_Please, not a Portkey. Just don't let it be another Portkey_...

The earth before him suddenly split open, and golden light spilled out. It formed a shimmering archway, and from the centre of the magic doorway emerged the tall figure of a wizard.

"Welcome, Puzzle-Solver," he said with a smile. "I am Durand Adroganter." There was nothing remotely imposing about him, not even in the twinkly-eyed Dumbledore fashion. He reminded Harry rather strongly of Arthur Weasley, right down to the slightly frayed robes, although his hair was mousy brown instead of Weasley red.

"Are you... a ghost?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"A memory," he corrected. "Preserved in this place by an ancient magic from the book of Slytherin."

Harry shivered despite himself. That book... had the teenage Tom Riddle read it, and learned its secrets? Was that how he had come to make the diary that had nearly been the death of Ginny four years ago? What else was hidden in it?

"I created this puzzle for the sake of my brother, and others like him," Durand continued. "Again and again, the lessons of history are learned and lost. The houses must work together, if they are to work at all."

"You were a Hufflepuff, weren't you?" he said, remembering his revelation. Durand chuckled.

"I was indeed. The fourth pillar, the one that is so often overlooked because the others have already defined the square. The one without which there would be no balance. My brother was a good man, very ambitious - and make no mistake, ambition is a grand quality, a quality that lifts men up and allows them to dream of worlds that others do not dare to contemplate. But ambition only for the self is poisonous, just as bravery is nothing if there is no one to be brave for, and knowledge is worth little if no one can ever share it. We must learn to cooperate if we are to get anywhere in this life."

"So that's what this was about? A team-building exercise?" Harry thought he could be forgiven for the way his voice was rising indignantly.

"Of course!" said the facsimile of Durand cheerfully.

"We could have been trapped inside forever!"

Durand chuckled and shook his head. "Oh dear, oh dear. You are like Bertram, you know. Always expecting the worst. I intended all along to lift the curse at the end if he failed to resolve it. Just as, no doubt, whoever invoked it this time intended also. The journey is what matters, not the final result!"

The resemblance to Arthur Weasley was growing. He was definitely put in mind of the kind of cheerful, good-natured recklessness that made Arthur think it was a good idea to do things like experiment with Muggle stitches when he was seriously wounded.

"It never occurred to you that anybody might... use the enchantment for their own purposes?" he suggested, rather sharply.

Durand gave him an annoyingly tolerant smile. "You're a Slytherin, aren't you?" he said knowingly.

"No!" Harry said hotly. "I'm a Gryffindor."

"Ah, well, much the same, much the same. Always looking for an enemy. I refuse to believe that anybody could ever undertake sufficient research into the histories of this school to find this spell, and not learn enough from what they uncovered to consider such petty foolishness a terrible mistake!"

Harry blinked for a moment. He shot an uneasy look over his shoulder, remembering his friends were fighting - quite possibly dying - while he was wasting time here. "Listen, this is all very interesting, but can you lift the curse now? Er, please," he added as an afterthought.

"It is already lifting," Durand said calmly. "By Midsummer, the forest of thorns will be gone." He beckoned Harry towards the doorway. "Now, come with me to the heart of the castle. I have much to show you of its secrets-"

"It's done? The curse is lifted?" Harry interrupted.

"It will lift itself. Now, step through the doorway. You have proved yourself true to the spirit of the four houses, but there are magics in this place far stronger than any you have yet encountered. Come with me, and I will show you the great secrets of Hogwarts."

He took a step forward, but glanced hesitantly back towards where he guessed his friends were. "Er, can this wait until...?"

"The magic that holds my memory here will not last long," Durand cautioned. "If you are to come, you must do so now."

Harry swallowed. Going back to help his friends... versus the prospect of some powerful magic that might well help them in the struggle against Voldemort. He'd sworn that this year he would _think_ before he acted - but what was the right decision here? Risk letting Hermione, Ron and Snape get hurt or killed for what might turn out to be a glorified tour of Hogwarts? Or go running back only to find they were fine, and he'd thrown away his only chance at a weapon that could destroy Voldemort?

Running after Sirius had been the wrong decision. Much as he hated it, he had to think like the Boy Who Lived, the only one the prophecy said could defeat Voldemort. He had to think with his head, hope that his friends - and Snape - would be all right, and go through the doorway with Durand.

He stepped forward.

But before he could pass through the doorway, the air was split by a nightmarish, almost inhuman scream that went on and on and on.


	28. The Hospital Wing Again

Harry ran back through the maze, heart in his throat. The hedges were shrinking and dying as he ran, leaves turning brown, wood shrivelling.

The scream cut off into a ragged, agonising groan as he sprinted for the source of it. "Ron?" he yelled into the ringing silence. "Hermione? Professor?"

He tripped over the body on the ground before he saw it. He didn't even realise what it was, until he put a hand down to support himself while he sorted out his tangled feet, and touched cool flesh. With a strangled yelp, he jumped up, and mustered a shaky "_L-lumos!_" The wand-light illuminated a slumped, robed form at his feet: unidentifiable in the dark, and very definitely dead.

His heart thumped a fast, painful beat, but he made himself kneel, made himself turn the body over with shaky hands that didn't quite seem to belong to him. Tugged back the fold of cloth that obscured the corpse's face.

Dolorus. His eyes were still wide and staring; they looked oddly naked without the glasses, the same way Harry's own did in the mirror last thing at night. He must have taken his glasses off to wear the magic visor. A stupid, ridiculous, inane detail, but somehow it made the body at his feet a person. Not just a dead enemy, but a fifteen-year-old boy who got up and put his glasses on every morning, just as Harry did. Who would never need to wear them again.

He felt sick.

Something rustled in the shadows, and Harry had his wand extended before he even knew he was going to move.

"It's me." Ron looked pale and exhausted, swaying slightly with the effort of keeping upright. Keeping himself and Hermione upright, actually; her still-unconscious form floated in the air beside him, but dipped and wobbled alarmingly.

"Where's Snape?"

Ron jerked his head. "Back there. He can't walk, and I can barely cope with Hermione-" His mental gears seemed to shift suddenly as he looked down at Dolorus. "It was horrible, Harry. We were fighting, and then the Thaumentors came out of nowhere-"

"They killed him?"

"Sucked everything right out of him. He was trying to fight-" Ron's eyes were wide with horror. "It must have been those Dark curses he was throwing around. I don't know why they didn't come after the rest of us. Something must have distracted them..."

"Durand appeared when I completed the maze," Harry said. "A memory, like in Riddle's diary... it must have been that."

"You completed it? Why isn't it _gone_?" he asked, frustrated.

"The hedges are dying, but we still won't be able to get out until Midsummer comes."

Ron winced. "Typical," he sighed, with a certain amount of dark humour despite their situation. "We need to get Hermione to the hospital wing, fast. I don't know what that junior Death Eater did to her, but she won't wake up."

"What about Snape?"

Ron looked conflicted. This was serious, now, and the automatic childish urge to say 'leave him here' didn't sit so easily. "I don't think he can walk, Harry. That curse really- Look out!"

He pulled Harry down as one of the Thaumentors swooped overhead. The light at the end of his wand went out, and Hermione fell to the ground with a horrible thump that made both of them flinch. Harry went to raise the Gryffindor shield - and found it wasn't even attached to his arm any more. He didn't know whether he'd dropped it, or it had melted or transported away.

"Why aren't they attacking?" Ron whispered urgently, as more of the creatures passed above them without slowing.

The answer was obvious - and not good. "Snape. He's a teacher in a magical school and he spends all his time around potions - he must _stink_ of magic compared to us."

"He definitely stinks of _something_," Ron grumbled, but his heart obviously wasn't in it as he carefully bent to check Hermione's pulse. "She's still breathing, but the longer she stays unconscious-" He shook his head angrily. "If we left Snape to fend for himself, we could probably get her back to the school before those things come after us..."

He trailed off, and they held each other's eyes for a long moment. Ron straightened up, and grimaced.

"We're going to run over there and get killed trying to save Snape's life, aren't we?"

"I guess so," said Harry, matching his tone. He pulled off his outer cloak and laid it over the unconscious Hermione. He sent up some sparks as they'd been taught to do in the Triwizard Tournament, in the faint hope that somebody might be watching. It was all they could do for her, and she might well be safer left to lie on her own than brought into the thick of a battle with the Thaumentors.

"Well, look on the bright side," Ron said, as they both started to run. "At least we won't have to explain to the school why Snape took five billion points off for us following him."

The hedges had shed all their leaves and shrivelled now, skeletons of their former imposing glory. It was easy to see where Snape must be by the mass of Thaumentors circling. There must be dozens of them at least, with more flocking in from all directions. Perhaps the fading of the magical maze had made it easier for them to locate their prey within it.

There was no way they had the slightest hope of fighting the creatures off. But Harry knew that abandoning somebody, even Severus Snape, to that boiling mass of magic-eaters was something he would never be able to live with.

"What I wouldn't give for a gun right now," he murmured to himself. Or even a crossbow. Or, for that matter, a slingshot and a decent stock of pebbles.

"Huh?" Poor Ron - he probably didn't have the slightest clue about fighting without magic. In all likelihood, neither would Snape.

Harry shrugged a mental 'what the hell', and dove into the fray.

It was utter chaos. Wings battered him, claws raked at him - the only reason he avoided being murdered right away was the fact that the Thaumentors were wrestling and turning on each other to get at the prizes. He thought he glimpsed Snape once or twice through the throng, but it was impossible to even try and fight his way over to him.

One of the creatures latched onto his shoulder. Harry battered at it helplessly, trying to get it to stop - what? Not _biting_, exactly, though it had him trapped between its toothless jaws. Instead of physical pain he felt a tug in his belly, like the action of a Portkey. As if it was drawing on something deep inside him...

Sucking out his magic.

He knew Dumbledore had said the effects were only temporary, but his struggles grew more desperate all the same. How much of his internal power could he afford to lose? These things had killed Dolorus. If they sucked all the magic out of him, would they keep on trying to draw more until he was torn apart? Or would they toss him aside like a rag doll as soon as he was useless to them?

Harry wrenched free of the Thaumentor that had him by the shoulder, but there were more, always more, cramming in to take its place. One grabbed onto his arm; he heard Ron cry out; the beating of leathery wings blocked out all sound but his own harsh, laboured breathing. He was going to die. He was going to die right here, within a short sprint of the school that should be the safest place in wizarding Britain, and Voldemort wasn't even here to oversee it personally.

And then... something started to happen.

The beating of wings changed its tone, and he didn't have the first clue what was happening until he saw a bright white point of light far above. For a moment he couldn't place it, and then he realised it was a star. The pressure around his wrist disappeared, and he threw himself flat against the ground as the creatures that had been fighting so hard to get close to him were suddenly fighting equally hard to get away.

The Thaumentors were leaving.

The gruesome 'flock' boiled away as one, all moving in the same direction. Towards the school. Harry sat up, and met the eyes of a battered but still conscious Ron. The slumped form of Snape was several feet away. Harry didn't think he had either the energy or the mental reserves to crawl over there and find out if he was still alive.

"Where are they going?" Ron asked dazedly.

It was a struggle to talk. "Must be... some kind of surge... strong magic-"

"What could possibly-?"

The realisation of the only magic source that could tear dozens of Thaumentors away from a feast of three helpless wizards struck them both simultaneously.

"Dumbledore!"

Ron grinned stupidly with relief. "They're comin' t'get us," he mumbled triumphantly, and laid his head back down on the ground as if to go to sleep.

Rescue at last. Assuming Dumbledore even knew that they were out here, let alone where to start looking for them. Harry prised his wand out of the mud beside him where it had been dropped and trampled on. He pointed it skywards and waved weakly. "_Relashio!_" Nothing happened. "_Relashio!_" Still nothing. His magic was drained dry.

Harry took a deep breath, and remembered the book for suspected Squibs that Neville had lent him. His discovery of the tale of Bertram and Durand had distracted him from looking up all the focusing exercises, but he could remember one from near the beginning that had stuck with him simply because it seemed so silly.

_Picture yourself as a wizard,_ the book had said. _Visualize your robes, and your pointed hat, and your wand. Picture the spell as a glow that starts in the middle of your chest, and passes down your arm and out of the wand. Hold that image in your mind before you cast._

Harry pictured his best robes, and his rather crumpled hat, and the wand as it had been handed to him in Ollivander's, when it was clean and new. He thought of Hagrid that night in the shack in the middle of nowhere saying "Harry - yer a wizard." He imagined that last little spark of magic, starting from the centre of his chest, and passing along his trembling arm to the wand that he held up. "_Relashio!_" he said in a loud whisper.

A long stream of sparks shot up into the air. Harry let his wand arm fall slack to the ground, and passed out.

* * *

Cool, clean sheets. The hospital wing.

Harry sat up with a start, and looked around urgently. Ron was in the next bed, snoring away reassuringly. He leaned back and thought for a moment. So, he and Ron had survived the night. What about- oh, God, Hermione! Had anyone found her, lying unconscious some way down the path from their own position? He threw back the covers and started to get out of bed.

"Ah, ah, ah - back in that bed, Mr. Potter." Madam Pomfrey materialised out of the doorway as if she had some kind of spell set up to alert her the moment he tried to get up.

"Hermione-?" he said urgently.

"Miss Granger is still recovering from her ordeal." Harry sat back as the Headmaster entered the room. "A moment, Poppy, if you would," he said mildly. The matron looked slightly miffed at being sent away, but simply sniffed and bustled out.

Harry rubbed his aching head. "Is Hermione all right?" he asked anxiously. "He put some kind of curse on her- we couldn't wake her up..."

"Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape are attempting to divine the cause of her continued sleep right now."

So Snape was all right, too. Or alive and conscious, anyway. "Snape was hit with some kind of hex- Ron said he couldn't walk?"

Dumbledore looked rather grim. "Indeed, if Madam Pomfrey had her way, he would not be trying to now. Unfortunately, with the extent to which you all have been drained by the Thaumentor attack, it will be a while before magical cures can reach their usual effectiveness. And Professor Snape, alas, has never been the most patient of individuals, especially when his expertise is needed elsewhere."

Harry tried not to snort at the understatement. He attempted again to get out of bed. "Can I go and see Hermione now, please, sir?"

The Headmaster smiled. "Madam Pomfrey will no doubt have my hide if you are up for too long - but I think a few minutes' visit can be arranged. Be warned, however, that your magic will take a while to reestablish itself, so although, of course, your wand has not been taken from you, I must ask you not to attempt to use it for the next few days."

He nodded impatiently, and limped through to the next room where Hermione was still sleeping. Except it didn't look so much like sleep in this light; her skin was literally grey, and she looked shrunken, almost, as if she was suddenly little more than a skeleton. The rise and fall of breaths still being taken was so faint it was almost invisible.

"Mr. Potter, you should _not_ be out of bed!" Madam Pomfrey rushed over to cluck at him, but the Headmaster stilled her with an upraised hand.

"I think a few moments can be allowed, under the circumstances," he said.

The matron tutted, but Dumbledore was just about the only person around she wouldn't fight with, so she contented herself with hustling Harry into a chair. He didn't resist, his limbs still feeling unnaturally heavy and his head rather light.

It was a while, indeed, before he noticed the lurking presence of Professor Snape, something that was usually impossible to miss. The teacher appeared to be simply standing against the far wall, but on closer inspection it was possible to see that he was actually leaning against it, and that perhaps the habitual scowl was tightened a little by pain.

Harry knew any attempt at a comment would be rebuffed, but what the hell. Let Snape be the rude one. "How's your leg, Professor?"

"It will heal," he said curtly. "Miss Granger's injuries will not be so easily dealt with. She should have been delivered to the hospital wing much earlier instead of left to wait for the outcome of your amateur heroics."

Harry's jaw tightened, but he forced himself to hold in the retort that was waiting to burst out. Considering the likelihood of that strategy holding out, it was probably just as well that the Headmaster spoke up in his place.

"Had Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley not rushed to join the battle against the Thaumentors, it is almost certain that you would have met the same fate as young Tiberius before they were drawn away," he informed Snape mildly. "Certainly, getting Miss Granger to the hospital wing sooner would have been desirable - but not at the cost of your life."

Harry knew he had actually made that decision when it came down to it, so he supposed that - theoretically - he agreed. Somehow with Snape glaring at him, not showing the slightest bit of gratitude for that fact, it was a lot harder to remember why. The irritable Potions master was a lot easier to consider important and valuable in the abstract.

Knowing it would be easier to milk a Blast-Ended Skrewt than get anything approaching gratitude out of Snape, he turned his attention back to the Headmaster.

"What happened to all the Thaumentors? They were swarming the three of us, and then suddenly they all flew away..."

"Something I suspected, but was not sure of until last night," Dumbledore explained, "was that the presence of Thaumentors was not wholly or even largely to blame for the fluctuations of power experienced by those of us within the bounds of the hedge. Indeed, it seems likely that it was Durand's Curse itself that drew magic from the strong and redistributed it amongst the weaker. This created a complex magical field, the details of which-" he smiled - "probably only those who study advanced Arithmancy would find fascinating. Suffice it to say that the Thaumentors, which centuries ago were still present in this part of the world, were drawn to the spell in the same way as insects to a brightly coloured picnic cloth."

Like most of the Headmaster's 'explanations', Harry found himself scrambling to fill in most of the gaps himself. "So... the Thaumentors weren't causing the power drain, they were just sort of caught up in the spell by accident when it was, er, folded up and put away?"

"Quite so." Dumbledore looked quite delighted with this extension of his whimsical metaphor.

"So when I ended the Curse, everybody's magic came back, and you were able to draw the Thaumentors, and, um-?"

"-Deal with them appropriately." Something in the Headmaster's suddenly steely demeanour dissuaded him from asking exactly how.

Harry nodded to himself, and suddenly sat up straight. "The doorway! There was, er, there was a magical doorway. At the end of the maze, when I solved it. Durand said he would take me to the heart of the castle..."

Dumbledore shook his head gravely. "I fear that, whatever offer he may have made you, the time to accept it has since passed."

He sighed, and slumped down in his chair. Had he made the right decision? He could never know, and in a way, that was nearly as bad as knowing for sure he'd made a terrible mistake. Harry suddenly felt, almost unwillingly, a stab of sympathy for Dumbledore. It sometimes seemed as if the Headmaster had been manipulating him all his life - but did Dumbledore feel like this all the time? Did he sit awake wondering whether sending Harry to live with the Dursleys had been the only choice, or he could have let him have a proper family without ruining everything?

He glanced at the Headmaster, but that blankly pleasant face revealed nothing more than it usually did.

Despite himself, Harry was unable to stifle a yawn, and Madam Pomfrey swooped down faster than any Thaumentor. "Back in bed, Mr. Potter," she ordered sternly. "No more dawdling, and no more unscheduled trips until I say so!" He was too tired to do anything but meekly stumble back to the other room.

Ron was awake when he got there. "Hermione-?" he blurted urgently.

"She's still unconscious," Harry admitted miserably.

"And we are doing everything we can for her," the matron said briskly. "Now, bed!" Harry scrambled back under the covers, and struggled to keep his eyes open for a few more heartbeats after she'd left.

"Did we save Snape?" Ron asked him.

"Yes," he said, the word transforming into a loud yawn.

Ron grimaced. "Oh, bloody hell," he groaned. "What d'you want to bet we're still on for losing those five billion points?"

"Look on the bright side," Harry mumbled. "At least with our magic drained, we might be able to get out of... doing the... exams..."

He fell asleep.


	29. Harry's Solution

Harry felt like an eleven-year-old again, standing in Ollivander's with no clue how to make his wand work. Resuming his use of magic after the effect of the Thaumentors was like having to relearn everything again. He knew _what_ to do, but he had to try and try just to perform spells he'd grasped in his first few months at Hogwarts.

"_Wingardium Leviosa!_" He grimaced as the feather - donated by a rather peeved Hedwig - stubbornly refused to do any more than quiver.

"Brings back memories, doesn't it?" said Ron from the doorway. They were both still restricted to the hospital wing, a situation Harry didn't protest since it allowed them to keep a closer eye on Hermione than would otherwise be permitted.

He smiled slightly, then grew more solemn. "How is she?"

"No change." Ron sighed, and sat down on the end of his bed. "Madam Pomfrey wants Snape to try another potion, but after the last one..." He trailed off.

All attempts to administer cures to Hermione so far had met with either no effect or disaster. Whether it was whatever nasty curse Dolorus had used or some side effect of the Thaumentors, spells and potions just weren't working as they should. She was lucky that her unconsciousness meant Madam Pomfrey had only managed to feed her a dribble of Invigorating Elixir before she had a violent reaction to it.

"Maybe the potions will work again in a few days once her magic has come back," Harry said. It had become something of a mantra, they only thing they had to hold on to without Hermione awake beside them to grab a pile of books and seek out a better answer.

"Yeah." Ron flopped back on the bed, and covered his eyes with an arm. "I just feel so useless, sitting here like this. Right now, I'd even volunteer to help _Snape_ if I thought he'd let me." Snape's potion-making skills, at least, seemed unaffected, although his wand-work was probably as bad as Ron and Harry's. Of course, Madam Pomfrey wouldn't dare force _him_ to stay in the hospital wing and keep practising first-year spells.

Harry sighed, and fiddled with his wand. Ron was right - it was not being able to do anything that was the most frustrating. His wand might as well be a stick for all the good it could do him right now.

He tossed it up in the air and caught it a few times, agitated. It wasn't until the third or fourth metallic clunk that he paused, and looked down at his hands. Of course, he was still wearing the ring. He usually took it off to sleep, but what with everything that had happened since he fell unconscious out in the maze, he'd completely forgotten about it.

The enchanted ring his father had taken from a group of Slytherins. The ring that had twice alerted him to the fact he was about to drink something deadly dangerous.

He leapt to his feet.

"Huh? What?" Ron snapped violently out of his semi-doze, reaching automatically for his wand and then grimacing as he realised he couldn't use it. "What's happening?"

"I've had an idea," said Harry. "Come on! We have to go and find Snape."

* * *

Harry had quite lost track of time while they were incarcerated in the hospital wing, but it turned out to be midway through lunch, so they lurked in the dungeon corridors waiting for the Potions master to return. Several passing Slytherins gave them looks that ranged from suspicious to outright hostile, but Harry was entirely too agitated to pay much attention.

Snape's lips compressed into a thin sneer as he saw them waiting there. "Potter. If you are here to beg for a chance to re-take your missed Potions exam, you will only be wasting your breath. Since only your wand-work has been affected by your foolish Gryffindor attempt at heroics, you should have been able to sit the Potions practical, and your unauthorised absence will give you a mark of zero."

"We were in the hospital wing!" Ron said, outraged.

"Malingering, no doubt," he said dismissively. "Neither of you were injured, and if inability to cast spells was sufficient reason for an overnight stay, Longbottom would never be allowed to leave."

"Sir, I had an idea that might help Hermione," Harry said, determined not to let himself be distracted.

"Fascinating, I'm sure, Potter, but believe it or not there are parts of the world where we do not wait with bated breath to hear your opinion."

Harry gave Ron a warning look before he could go off again, and pulled off the ring. "I thought that... this... might help you make a potion for Hermione that won't poison her."

The ring had resumed its silver snake form, and sat quivering in the centre of his palm. Snape's dark eyes glittered with some unreadable emotion for a moment as he stared at it.

"Where did you get this, Potter?" he demanded, in a dangerously low and controlled voice.

Harry hesitated, somehow feeling despite his hatred for the Potions master that he owed Snape the truth, or at least some part of it. "In a box of things of my father's that I think he... took from some Slytherins when he was at school."

"Indeed." If it was possible to cast a spell using only the strength of a glare, Harry would have been splattered all over the wall by now. A half-formed hunch solidified into near-certainty.

"It's yours, Professor, isn't it?" he said. What other Slytherin at school with his father would have had a ring enchanted specially to help in potion-making?

"It was - but of course, the Potters are lords and masters of all they survey, and can take what they please from the mere mortals around them," Snape said cuttingly.

Harry bridled at the suggestion that he should be tarred with the crimes of his father, but at the same time felt a stab of irrational guilt. "I didn't know who it belonged to!" he protested. "I would have given it back if I did."

"Of course. And the fact that you wore it for sixth months without the slightest attempt to advertise its properties or attempt to locate its true owner bears this out."

He flushed furiously. How was he supposed to have known that the ring's original owner was even alive, let alone at Hogwarts? "I _just_ thought you might be able to use it," he grated.

"Will it be able to help Hermione, Professor?" Ron asked, managing to keep calmer than Harry. That was new, and a little disconcerting. Ron hadn't lost his short fuse by any means, but ever since the tragic news about Percy he seemed to have found a new ability to focus and put aside his emotions when there were more important matters at stake.

Snape plucked the ring unceremoniously from Harry's palm, and sneered. "Perhaps. Doubtless you have been using it as a last-ditch defence against the lethal consequences of your shameful inability to follow instructions, but it is a precision tool, designed for use by someone who understands the subtleties of the art. It may be of some assistance."

He turned around and limped off without further comment.

"Yeah, you're welcome," said Ron sarcastically.

* * *

Ron and Harry took up their customary stations by Hermione's bedside for most of the afternoon. Madam Pomfrey had given up on chasing them out, Harry suspected largely because it allowed her to keep a closer eye on the two of them. For some reason, the matron seemed wholly convinced that no magical exertion meant no physical exertion either. She scolded them both soundly if they tried to lift a finger to do anything.

They played several games of chess, most of which Harry lost miserably. Neville came by with a small potted plant called a Rainbow Harponica, which put out multicoloured flowers at different times of the day, and hummed quietly to itself. "They're supposed to give good dreams to people who have trouble sleeping," he explained shyly. "Since we don't know if Hermione's dreaming or not, and it was a Dark curse, I thought..."

"That's really thoughtful, Neville," said Harry. "Thank you."

Ron cautiously prodded the plant with the end of a Sugar Quill. It trilled faintly, and quivered its leaves.

Ginny and Luna visited after their History of Magic OWL, the latter inspecting Neville's plant for Ear-Biting Thrips before she would consent to sit near it.

"They look exactly like leaves until they leap up and bite onto your earlobe," she explained seriously. "That's why people started wearing earrings."

Harry wasn't convinced of the existence of Ear-Biting Thrips, but then he hadn't known Thaumentors had existed a few months ago, so he resolved to be careful around any suspicious looking leaves. The last thing he needed was to start wearing an earring - Snape would probably curse his ears off looking for hidden charms.

"I've completely stuffed up that exam," said Ginny, not sounding terribly regretful. "I just couldn't concentrate. But I know I passed Defence Against the Dark Arts, even with Trelawney teaching us for half the year. It's all thanks to your lessons last year, Harry. You were brilliant! I just hope they let our marks stand even though the external examiners couldn't come in."

"Delightful as this little love-fest is, this is a hospital room, not the Potter appreciation society." Snape stalked in, looking purposeful enough to give Harry hope but scowling as much as ever. "Kindly depart, and Miss Weasley, might I suggest you spend your apparently ample spare time preparing for your Potions OWL tomorrow? Judging by your last three homework assignments, you will be lucky to achieve the marks allotted for correctly spelling your own name."

The fifth-years reluctantly rose and left, Ginny shooting Harry an apologetic smile and shrug. Snape redirected his pointed glare to the two boys.

"We're patients!" said Ron.

The Potions master's sneer said what he thought of that, but fortunately Madam Pomfrey chose that moment to enter the room. "Professor? Do you have the potion?" she asked, sounding unusually agitated. It didn't sit well with the matron to have care of her charges reliant on someone else's work.

"Several variants." He reached within the folds of his robe to produce half a dozen small bottles, each one holding little more than a few spoonfuls of liquid. To Harry's eyes, they all looked an identical shade of pond-water green, and it was only the obscure symbols with which each bottle was labelled that set them apart. Snape set them down, and pulled the ring off his index finger. "With the aid of this poison-detecting device-" he shot Harry a pointed glare, "-it should be possible to test each for adverse reactions without doing Miss Granger undue harm."

He placed the ring on the back of Hermione's unresponsive hand, handling her as dispassionately as if she was something to be dissected in his lab. "_Cavere Inuria!_"

The ring instantly became a coiled snake, quivering alertly. It slithered across Hermione's hand and wrapped its tail around her wrist, as if to keep a close check on her pulse. The colour of the metal faded down from silver to almost pure white.

"Did it do that when you used it?" Ron whispered. Harry shook his head.

"I just found it in a box, it didn't come with instructions!"

Still, the ring had somehow managed to save his life once, and could have done with the Desanguinating Draught if he'd understood it was trying to warn him. Harry supposed those had both counted as out-and-out poisons, obviously intended to harm. He hoped that whatever Snape had commanded the ring to do would take into account something as subtle as a healing potion that might have ill effects.

Snape unstoppered the first of the vials, and moved to let just a droplet fall. Harry expected him to dab it on the back of Hermione's hand or arm, like an allergy test, but instead he dropped it directly onto the head of the serpent. The snake immediately turned grey, and emitted a hissing sound. Madam Pomfrey tutted in dismay.

"What does that mean?" asked Ron.

Snape grunted in annoyance at the interruption, but said curtly, "Bad reaction." He readied another of the sample jars.

This time, the snake turned pure black, and Harry hissed, not needing a translation. "Deadly poison," he said aloud. The ring had turned black from the 'Butterbeer' left for them in the Gryffindor dorms when he'd tried to drink it. He supposed that its default function was to check for poison in anything the wearer intended to drink. If it hadn't been for his idea, Snape's second attempt at curing Hermione could well have killed her.

If the Potions master was thinking as much, it didn't appear to faze him. He sorted the remaining vials according to some system Harry couldn't divine.

"Is there a common element?" Madam Pomfrey asked, and Snape nodded.

"It seems that several of the more intrinsically magical elements are not acting as they should. The results are similar to those I would expect should the potions be drunk by a Squib."

"Wait - Squibs can't drink potions?" Harry asked, surprised. Snape shot him a look full of contempt.

"Mr. Potter, if you had made _any_ attempt to follow the background reading for your classwork, you would be aware that many of the ingredients used in potion-making require interaction with the consumer's innate magical talent to function. Do you honestly think it would be safe for a person to drink a mixture containing dragon's blood or snake fangs if they had no magical talent whatsoever?"

"I never really thought about it before," he admitted sheepishly.

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Hardly an uncommon attitude for you, Potter. Believe me, if it were my decision - as it most certainly should be, were it not for the plethora of interested parties determined to bend the rules to allow you to do as you will - you would not be taking NEWT level Potions at all."

Harry exchanged a glance with Ron, who raised his eyebrows in commiseration and shrugged, apparently not having known that snippet about Squibs and potions either. Harry was willing to bet that it was not common knowledge at all, but probably tucked away in the third footnote of page one thousand and something of a textbook that hadn't been used for decades.

Snape chose one of the remaining vials, and dispensed a single drop onto the head of the snake. This time it remained white, and he nodded to himself.

"Does that mean it's going to work?" Ron demanded urgently.

"It means it will do no harm," he allowed. He looked to Madam Pomfrey before giving the rest of his explanation, obviously considering the two of them beneath his notice. "I had already surmised that the more potent magical ingredients were likely to be the problem. This version uses herbal substitutes for the Sisiutl flesh and Varengan feathers; it will be less effective, but Miss Granger should not experience any problems with the ingredients."

Snape straightened up, and returned the snake to its usual ring form with the command "_Anularius!_" He stood back, and allowed Madam Pomfrey to deal with the more awkward proposition of getting the unconscious Hermione to swallow the remainder of the potion.

"Will that be enough?" Harry asked doubtfully. Snape sneered.

"This is medicine, Potter, not cookery. You cannot just alter the dosage as the mood takes you, and, difficult though it may be for your feeble schoolboy mind to grasp, more is not always better."

Harry exchanged a wry glance with Ron. Apparently saving Snape's life hadn't mellowed him towards them at all - not that he'd expected it to.

They all watched Hermione. If the potion was having an effect, it was not immediately visible. Was that a touch more colour in her cheeks, or was it just wishful thinking? Snape had warned that the potion with substitute ingredients would be less effective - what if it wasn't enough? What if she stayed in a coma forever, trapped maddeningly out of reach of a cure because the magic just wouldn't work for her?

Some reassurances would have been good right then, even if they were empty, but Madam Pomfrey was already bustling off to see to other patients, and from the way Ron's knuckles had turned white as he clutched the edge of the blanket, optimism was too much to ask of him right now. Harry shifted uncomfortably, and glanced at the only other prospect for conversation, grim though it was.

His eyes fell on the ring, still loosely clutched in the Potion master's long fingers.

"How does the ring detect poisons like that, Professor?" he asked.

Snape looked less than thrilled to be addressed, but merely held out the ring and spoke the word, "_Apertoforma!_" The ring changed form again, this time into a rough black sphere, furrowed with wavy lines. "I would hope, Potter, that you at least have the background knowledge to recognise one of these."

"It's a Cobra Stone!" Harry realised. He remembered the description from a homework assignment the previous year, although he had never seen a real one. They were used to remove the poison from snake bites; the ring must be one with enchantments placed onto it so it could be worn all the time and protect the wearer before anything toxic even entered their system.

"Correct, Mr. Potter. And, of course, you remember the properties of Snake Stones as a family and Cobra Stones in particular?" The thick sarcasm made him want to prove Snape wrong, and he fumbled for half-forgotten details.

"Er... they come from inside the heads of snakes," he managed. "And... if you hold them against snake bites, they sort of suck the poison out." There was more, he was sure, but it was wasn't coming to him. Oh, yes: "They get saturated, and to use them again you have to soak them in, um, soak them in..."

"Milk," croaked a very weak voice from the bed. Harry whirled around.

"Hermione! You're awake!"

She smiled at them all, rather shyly. Ron smacked his forehead theatrically.

"Of course, Harry! We should have started on the revision questions _days_ ago. You _know_ Hermione can never resist a chance to tell us we're wrong."

They huddled around the bed, eager to tell her everything that had been going on before Madam Pomfrey came in and turfed them out again.


	30. News From Outside

Harry's confinement to the hospital wing had kept him rather isolated from the gossip flying around the school, so it was only several days later that he got to hear everyone's reactions to the dying of the hedges outside. The members of the DA appeared to be the only ones to realise there had ever been a danger of being trapped - most people seemed to happily assume that the gradual destruction of the hedge maze was a sign that the teachers had planned it that way all along.

Dumbledore's banishment of the Thaumentors had been witnessed by most of the school, although no one - Harry included - was entirely sure exactly what he'd done with them. They had taken the blame for any odd events people might have noticed while the Curse was in effect, and for once, Harry's own contribution went wholly unremarked. As it happened, he was really rather glad.

"It makes you realise, though," said Ron. "We could have all been killed, or worse, and hardly anybody even noticed!"

"I think most people are like that," Harry observed. "Even when they _know_ there's something dangerous to look out for - like Voldemort - they just panic a bit and then get on with ordinary life as if nothing's changed." He wasn't sure if he envied or pitied the wizarding public its obliviousness. Event though there were days when he would have given anything to bury his head in the sand and just not be involved, he couldn't imagine just pretending nothing was happening when he knew what Voldemort was capable of.

"Yeah." Ron looked sad for a moment. "It still catches up with them, though. Even if they're not ready for it." Harry knew he was thinking of Percy.

"I don't know if you _can_ ever be ready for it," he said. "All we can do is try to guess what we might end up facing, and hope we'll do the right thing when it comes."

Ron nodded, and managed a smile at that. Percy had been a true Gryffindor at heart, when it came right down to it. Whatever else he might have said or thought or done during the dark and confusing times, when the final moment had come he'd done what he had to without hesitation.

Harry could only hope that the rest of them would be strong enough to do the same.

* * *

The hedges finally crumbled to dust on Midsummer's Day, at exactly noon. Hermione was the only one to be put out by the news, largely because she'd been telling everyone it would happen at midnight based on the pattern behind the appearance of the clues. Everyone else cheered enthusiastically, and afternoon lessons were cancelled as owls were sent out and concerned families descended on the school _en masse_.

Harry felt awkward about intruding on the Weasleys' reunion, relieved though he was to see them. Mrs. Weasley was very red around the eyes and sobbed as she hugged Ron and Ginny, and Mr. Weasley looked ashen and tired. Bill and Charlie hadn't been able to get to the school, but the twins were there. Harry had never seen them so sombre, and somehow that was even worse than the most visible outpouring of grief.

He spent most of the afternoon sitting with Hermione, who was still being monitored in the hospital wing, and of course had no one to go outside and greet since her parents were Muggles.

"My parents don't even know there's a war on," she said, fiddling with the blankets. "I mean, they _know_, but they don't really understand what it's like. They don't realise how small the wizarding world is - or that Hogwarts is just as mixed up in it as everywhere else."

"They probably wouldn't like it if they knew what being friends with me meant," Harry pointed out darkly. Hermione smiled, and gave his hand a squeeze.

"I'd be in the middle of it whatever happened, Harry. And at least this way I'm in it with friends I can trust."

Footsteps in the doorway made Harry look up, and then he bounded out of his seat. "Remus!" The name tripped surprisingly easily off his tongue.

"Hello, Harry. Hermione." Remus smiled, but he looked even older and greyer than he had at the beginning of the year. It occurred to Harry that with Snape trapped inside the castle with the rest of them, Remus might not have had a way to get any Wolfsbane potion.

"Professor Lupin!" Hermione sat up straighter and hastily pulled the blankets a little closer.

"I came as soon as I heard the magical barrier was lifted," he said warmly.

"You know about the Curse?" Harry asked.

"Indeed - and about your part in ending it." He smiled. "It took a lot of thought and ingenuity to solve those clues. I'm very proud of you."

"I had a lot of people helping me," said Harry rather uncomfortably.

"So you did - and that's a good thing. Professor McGonagall says you showed remarkable skill as a leader during the crisis at Christmas, too. It's good to see that the time you spent teaching the Defence Association last year has helped you as well as your students."

"I suppose," he said, blinking. It had never occurred to him to think of it that way before. He wasn't used to leading anything. People sometimes followed what he did just because he was Harry Potter, but that wasn't quite the same thing.

"You were great, Harry," said Hermione, beaming. He flushed a little.

They all turned as Madam Pomfrey entered the room. Harry felt both his embarrassment and the celebratory mood drop away as he registered her expression. She looked far too grave for it to be anything so simple as her usual habit of sternly chasing out lingering visitors.

"The Headmaster is calling everyone to the Great Hall," she said in a terse voice. "Under the circumstances, Miss Granger, I think I can let you out of the hospital wing early."

* * *

They hurried through the anxious crowds of milling students and parents. Hermione had only stopped to pull on a dressing gown over her pyjamas instead of taking the time to get dressed, but nobody gave her so much as a second glance. Harry could feel the tension building in the air: a sickening feeling of "What _now_?"

"Harry!" Neville found them in the crowd. "Professor Lupin," he greeted the teacher with a shy smile. Remus returned it warmly.

"Hello, Neville."

"What's going on?" Harry asked.

"Nobody knows," said Dean Thomas. The members of the DA were collecting around him, as they had after the delivery of Voldemort's nasty surprise at Christmas. "McGonagall just called for everybody to go to the Great Hall."

Several more voices greeted Professor Lupin, sounding pleased to see him. He'd been extremely popular as a teacher before Snape let slip to the school that he was a werewolf, and Harry was glad to see that some people, at least, were smart enough to still like him just as much afterwards.

"Harry." Ron came to join them, voice sounding suspiciously hoarse; Harry knew the Weasleys' reunion must have been a tearful affair. "Hey, Hermione, you're up."

"Madam Pomfrey said I ought to come." She still looked very pale, but she was making her way through the crowds determinedly enough, with Remus's guiding hand on her shoulder.

"Any idea what's happening?" Harry asked again.

"I don't know, but I think it's bad," Ron said grimly. "My dad got an owl at the same time Dumbledore did, and so did some other Ministry people."

"Did he tell you what it said?" Hermione asked, but he shook his head.

"He said we should go to the Hall with everybody else and they'd tell us there. He and a couple of other people who got owls have left already - they've gone off towards Hogsmeade to Apparate." He bit his lip. "Fred and George went with them. I think it must be something really desperate if dad didn't try to get them to stay behind."

Harry was beginning to get a very bad feeling about the timing of this. The families who had all rushed to the school when the barrier was lifted had to form a fair-sized chunk of the country's adult witches and wizards. Could this whole year of trouble have been nothing but a convenient distraction?

As urgency increased his pace to a faster jog than Hermione could keep up with, he felt a tingle in his forehead that blossomed quickly into a full-blown throb. His curse scar. Voldemort was up to something...

He threw together everything he could remember from last year's disastrous Occlumency lessons to ward off the pain before it became too great. Just before it faded out, he felt a dark curl of triumph that he knew wasn't his own.

Despite the pressure of his instincts Harry forced himself not to break into a run; the way tension was crackling through the corridors right now, he'd probably start a stampede. Even so, he put on enough speed to reach the Great Hall well ahead of the others. The staff were all gathered at the front of the room; Dumbledore was the only one to look completely calm, but even he had his gravest of expressions in place. McGonagall's lips were compressed in a thin line, and Snape was glowering even more than usual. His black eyes tracked Harry as he charged into the room, and Harry felt another twinge through his scar. He wondered if Voldemort was even now communicating with his Death Eaters through the Dark Mark.

Dumbledore raised his hands in an appeal for quiet that was less successful than it usually was with just the students in attendance. "Friends; children; I am afraid I have matters of some seriousness to address." The room gradually settled down.

He spoke without further preamble. "Voldemort has attacked Diagon Alley."

The same gasp of shock arose from many throats at once. Harry remained silent, hands balled into fists. He'd known to expect something like this as soon as the summons was announced, and he should have been expecting it earlier. Voldemort had been far too quiet this year - even the attack on the Ministry that had killed Percy had been a peculiarly isolated attempt. He should have _known_...

But even if he had known, what could he have done? Harry had frequently resented the way Voldemort always seemed to find a new way to come after him, but now he was finding that he felt even more helpless when the enemy ignored him entirely and struck at other targets.

There was panic in the Great Hall, and it was slowly quelled by Dumbledore's raised hands, Snape's piercing glares, and several calls for quiet from McGonagall.

"A group of Death Eaters, led by Voldemort himself, appeared in the centre of Diagon Alley via an unregistered Portkey," the Headmaster continued. "An Anti-Apparation Field appears to have been set up over the entire area, and Death Eaters have taken up stations preventing entry and exit on foot. Ministry forces are attempting to break through even as we speak; in the meantime, Aurors on the scene have reported that the main target appears to be Gringotts Bank. The goblins have closed the main doors, but it is uncertain how long they can remain standing under a concerted attack."

"Bill says goblin magic can hold off any number of human curse breakers indefinitely," Ron said from behind Harry.

"What about Voldemort?" he asked, not taking his eyes off Dumbledore.

"Who knows?" If there was one thing that Voldemort wasn't, it was an ordinary human wizard.

"It is believed that Voldemort has committed most of his forces to the assault on Diagon Alley, and the risks of coordinated attacks across the country are considered small. Nonetheless, the Ministry of Magic has requested that all witches and wizards on any other than official Ministry business return to their homes or designated safe areas for the duration of the crisis, and avoid public gatherings."

Dumbledore's words were starting to sound like something out of a disaster movie, or news reports from some war-torn country half the world away - not something that should be happening here, now, in real life. Harry saw that Mrs. Weasley was tightly clutching the shoulders of Ron and Ginny, and all around other people were similarly holding on to their loved ones as if afraid they might be ripped away at any second. He found himself standing alone in a widening circle of space, as if Harry Potter might be the lightning rod that drew down a deadly strike, and nobody wanted to be standing too close to him. Then Hermione broke ranks to stand beside him and take his arm, and he smiled at her in silent gratitude. They continued to listen.

"Hogwarts, naturally, is one of the designated safe areas, and accommodation will be arranged for any who wish to remain here. The Ministry of Magic has declared this an official state of emergency: the remainder of the years' lessons will be cancelled, and, for security reasons, the normal Hogwarts Express service will not be running this year. Those parents who wish to remove their children from the school now instead of waiting for the end of term may do so. Emergency transport will be arranged for those pupils whose parents are unable to collect them from the school directly."

A stunned silence punctured by bemused murmurs greeted these final comments, the students too shocked even to be pleased by the early reprieve from their lessons. McGonagall took charge, clapping her hands above her head. "All those families taking students home today, please register their names with Professor Flitwick. Those who wish to arrange for accomodation within the castle, report to Professor Sprout at the end of the Hall..."

Harry stood on the sidelines while the chaos swirled around him. Even those who had Muggle parents who couldn't be at the school had things to worry about and arrangements to make. He alone had nobody that was his to think about, and nobody to think about him. Oh, there were plenty of people to whom he _mattered_ \- he wasn't so far gone to self-pity to stop believing that - but it wasn't the same thing. Hermione, the Weasleys, Remus, even Dumbledore, he supposed: they all cared about him, but he didn't _belong_ to any of them, and none of them belonged to him. The only person he'd ever truly had that kind of relationship with had been Sirius.

His godfather might not have been perfect, but he'd been _Harry's_. It took standing in a crowd of people like this to make him realise exactly how alone he was. If he half closed his eyes, Harry could imagine coloured threads connecting everybody to the people they belonged to: linking Weasley to Weasley, Neville to his gran, even Hermione to her dentist parents far away. He was the only student in the room who didn't have at least one thread.

Except he did, didn't he? A different kind of link, the complete opposite of the ones that tied together all the families around him. Instead of somebody to belong to, he had somebody to oppose.

Voldemort. It all came back to him, in the end. The words of the prophecy that Sirius had died needlessly to protect came drifting back into Harry's head. _Neither can live while the other survives._ Maybe the truest words Professor Trelawney had ever spoken. Harry might be existing, but he didn't really have a life, couldn't ever hope to have one until that invisible thread was snapped, one way or another...

"Harry?"

He blinked in surprise, and turned towards Remus. "Professor?" It was hard to remember to call him by his first name in this setting, even though he'd requested it.

"Professor Dumbledore thinks it's probably best that you leave the school as soon as enough members of the Order are available to guarantee your safety. Despite all precautions taken to keep track of the families staying at the school, you could be in danger while you remain here." Some of those family members were probably Death Eaters, after all. Remus hesitated. "I'm afraid you'll have to return to our old headquarters, at least for the time being."

That meant Grimmauld Place, the house that had belonged to Sirius, and practically been his godfather's prison for the year up to his death. Harry would have been happy if he'd never had to see the nightmarish old place again. "Couldn't I-?"

"We can't discount the possibility of a double feint, Harry," Remus warned. "Voldemort could be watching any of the alternative places we might take you, and we can't take the risk that your aunt and uncle might not be available." Not that Harry was exactly eager to return to the Dursleys early, or indeed at all. Whatever protection they supposedly provided was more than offset by the 'joy' of their presence.

"I'll go with you, Harry," Hermione offered. She was looking rather pale, and he couldn't help but think that the only place she should be going was back to the hospital wing. "My parents won't be ready for me to come home early, and I expect Ron will be going home."

"Actually, mum says we're going with you," Ron corrected gravely, coming over to join them. "Dad's a big target in the Ministry, and the Burrow's too exposed. All of us there together is asking for trouble."

It started to hit Harry, then, exactly how big this was. This wasn't the occasional plot that could be put down by the right people at the right time - this was real, all out war, and nowhere and no one was safe. Voldemort wasn't going to sit around and wait for Harry to come and confront him. The Death Eaters were out there now, killing and terrorizing and seizing what they wanted.

And there wasn't a single thing he could do about it.

"Okay," he said. "When do we leave?"

* * *

The journey to Grimmauld Place was a blur, a high-speed hustle with no time for the more elaborate safety precautions Moody had concocted for Harry's trip to Hogwarts the beginning of the year. Moody himself was not around, and neither were Tonks or Kingsley Shacklebolt; everyone with Auror training was badly needed at Diagon Alley in the hope that they could turn the tide of the siege. Harry and his friends were hastily escorted by Remus and Mundungus Fletcher, and then left to sit around with no information in the care of Molly Weasley and an agitated Mrs. Figg.

"Why don't they _tell us_ anything?" Harry demanded as he paced, too caught up in anxiety to even care much about his hatred of the house.

"Sit down, Harry," Ginny ordered, firmly but not unkindly. "You know they've got more important things to worry about than talking to us."

Mrs. Weasley bustled about preparing them entirely too much food, with a kind of brittle hyperactivity that suggested she might snap and burst into tears if anybody stood in her way long enough to stop her moving. The food was probably as wonderful as ever, but Harry couldn't taste a thing.

Hermione was clearly still exhausted, but she refused to retreat to the bedrooms to sleep. Eventually she simply slid down in her seat and started faintly snoring; Ron covered her with a blanket, but they made no move to remove her to somewhere more comfortable. They would wait this out together.

Tense silence ruled the day, with all of them too agitated even to read or manage a game of Exploding Snap or chess. Harry sat staring into the flickering fire, which Mrs. Weasley had lit because Grimmauld Place was freezing even though outside it was the sticky, sweaty height of summer. His scar was throbbing, a constant, regular pulse like the beeping of a heart monitor. He was afraid that if he dozed off like Hermione, he would find himself seeing through Voldemort's eyes, forced to witness and take part in the atrocities he was doubtless even now committing.

Fred arrived in the early hours of the morning, with soot smudged all over his robes and a bleeding cut on his cheek. "Where's George?" was the question Ginny blurted before anybody could think of anything more sensible, for the sight of a solitary Weasley twin was so unusual it was frightening.

"He got knocked on the head when one of the Death Eaters blew up part of the cobblestones with a hex," he reported tiredly. Mrs. Weasley gave a stifled sob of alarm and brought a hand up to cover her mouth. "He's fine, mum," Fred added hastily, "but he can't see a Healer for a while yet since they're too bogged down with the critical cases." He rubbed a hand across his forehead, only succeeding in redistributing the grime. "I can't stay, I'm to report to Hogwarts in a moment. They're asking everyone who's still on their feet and isn't an Auror or a Mediwizard to carry messages, since they don't think it's safe to trust the Owl Post."

"Did you see dad?" Ron asked urgently.

"Not for a while," Fred said, shaking his head. "I think he went back to the Ministry, though, so he should be well out of it." That was a relief, at least, but there were still too many people they cared about bound to be in the thick of things, and who knew if they were alive or dead? Harry felt helpless and totally frustrated at how cut off they were from everything.

"Who's winning?" he blurted, and felt stupid and childish for only being able to think of the sort of question you might ask of a Quidditch match.

Fred considered it for a long, weary moment. "Nobody," he said, with atypical grimness, and left to Apparate back to Hogsmeade.

* * *

News trickled in gradually over the next few days as members of the Order came and went, usually without staying long. Voldemort's assault on Gringotts had failed when the goblins triggered some emergency mechanism that caused the entire building to sink below ground, but the battle for control of Diagon Alley had gone on long into the next day. A disastrous collision of a Flaming Fist Hex and a Rubber Shield Charm had set part of Flourish and Blotts ablaze, and it was believed that Death Eaters had made off with a number of highly restricted tomes on the Dark Arts in the ensuing panic.

When the Aurors had finally succeeded in breaking through the defences put in place to keep them out, the battle had moved to Knockturn Alley. Ministry forces managed to start evacuating the civilians, but the skirmish grew even more bloody as the Aurors ran into some nasty surprises the Death Eaters had prepared for their eventual breakthrough. Somewhere in the midst of the confusion, Voldemort escaped. Not all of his followers were so lucky, but Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange were not amongst those killed or captured. Nor was Wormtail: no one but the members of the Order of the Phoenix would have known to look out for him, of course, but his silver hand should have made him distinctive enough to identify if he'd been there.

Days later, the dead and injured were still being sorted out. The stories in the _Daily Prophet_ were dire enough, but it was from the brief snatches of first-hand reports that the true horror really struck home. In some cases the Ministry had been forced to resort to Identity Badge Charms to identify those bodies that weren't so easily recognisable. Harry didn't think he'd ever again be able to think of the cheerful second-year Charms lesson where they'd gone around tagging everybody and sniggering at the more unfortunate middle names without shuddering.

There were far too many names he recognised on the dead list, not all of them people who should have had business in a war zone. Dedalus Diggle and Sturgis Podmore from the Order. Professor Kettleburn, the old Care of Magical Creatures who'd retired because his job was too dangerous. Florean Fortesque from the ice-cream parlour. Borgin, the Knockturn Alley shopkeeper that Harry hadn't even _liked_. Other people whose names he'd only heard spoken about by friends or in the _Daily Prophet_, but still felt incredibly shaken to suddenly realise were dead. Harry felt selfishly relieved that all his schoolmates and most of their families had been safe at Hogwarts when the attack was launched.

Not everyone he knew was so lucky, and the injury list was high. Mr. Weasley eventually returned home grey-faced and obviously in pain, although he wouldn't say where or how he'd been injured. Tonks had been caught under a falling building and would be in St. Mungo's for weeks. Mad-Eye Moody had gone down under the combined curses of half a dozen Death Eaters, and now had two and a half missing fingers and some alarming scars to add to his extensive collection of war wounds.

"It was a massacre," said Bill Weasley, shaking his head. "For us and for them. The difference is that Voldemort doesn't care what happens to _his_ followers."

"But what were the Death Eaters after in Diagon Alley in the first place?" Hermione asked again. She had driven them all to distraction during the days they were cooped up in Grimmauld Place, combing through the news reports and interrogating visitors with a single-minded determination to somehow find the secret key that would make it all make sense. "What did they _want_?"

"To cause terror." Professor Lupin appeared in the doorway, looking tireder and older than ever. "And that, they have certainly achieved. Certainly there may have been other objectives - the Death Eaters that escaped seized a number of rare books and artefacts, and the chaos caused by Gringotts closing its doors may be immeasurable - but there can be no other reason to attack in broad daylight, when the street was at its fullest."

"I should have been there," Harry said grimly. _He_ was the one prophesied to face Voldemort. No one else stood a chance. And the longer he waited to fight, the more people would be killed in the crossfire.

"You couldn't have done anything, Harry," Ron said, shaking his head.

"It's me Voldemort wants!"

Professor Lupin shook his head. "No, Harry. In fact, it is you most of all that Voldemort does not want. He failed in his attempt to uncover the truth of the prophecy, and he remains afraid of it. No doubt that's exactly why he arranged for the school to be utterly cut off from the rest of the world. He has tried to kill you many times already, and failed in all of them. Now, like all those who are terrified of facing death, he would rather find ways to avoid the confrontation than meet it head on and risk losing everything."

"But the prophecy doesn't even say I'll win!" Harry said. "Only that one of us will."

Ron's hand landed heavily on his shoulder. "It'll be you, Harry."

"It's got to be," said Hermione.

Lupin seemed to understand his anguish, and gave him a soft smile. "Sometimes waiting while others fight for us is the hardest thing we have to do," he said gently.

"How long am I supposed to keep waiting?" he wondered.

"Until the time is right."

Harry couldn't hold back a bitter snort. "How will we even know?"

Lupin squeezed his arm gently. "We can only have faith that we will. Now, come on, Harry. It's time to take you back."

Harry stood up. Time to go back to the Dursleys, for another summer of waiting, and lingering uselessly in a world he no longer belonged to while the people he loved and cared about fought life-and-death battles he could take no part in.

But he had a feeling, deep inside, that the waiting wouldn't last much longer. Sooner or later, Voldemort would make his move. And when he did, the future of the entire wizarding world would be in Harry's hands alone.

For better or worse, the world was pinning all its hopes on Harry Potter.

**End**

* * *

**Endnote:**

From the Real Mythology Files: the stations of the year, moonstones and blue moons, Cobra Stones, properties of those Potions ingredients not cribbed from the books. From the Nomad Making Stuff Up Files: Fluctuating Flaxweed, Muscomens, curse balls and energy absorption webs, the Window of Opportunity, Thaumentors, the Rainbow Harponica, and any unfamiliar spells. Almost everything else, of course, from the fertile imagination of J.K. Rowling.


End file.
